


Till Shadowed Days are Done

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, Erotica, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Slash, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-03
Updated: 2006-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-26 15:07:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10789152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: The fourth in the Cartography series. Remus reveals to George that in his past he slept with Snape. George shares some wartime experiences with Remus, and Arthur visits. Another tragedy befalls the Weasley family. Angst and some steamy lovin'.





	Till Shadowed Days are Done

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: My gratitude to Nancy for her beta of this story, as well as the comments of many others as it was being written, lyric and Amy in particular, who were kind enough to comment on it while it was being written across two continents.

This story is dedicated to Amy, without whose enthusiasm and support I would never have come this far as a writer. This Snape's for you, my dear.   


* * *

"Stop running, Xave!"  


  
The rust-haired boy paid no attention to his father's admonitions as he rushed past the table.  
  
"Can't! Maniacal Masked Marauder'll get me!" he panted as George followed in hot pursuit, a red cape billowing behind him.  
  
"Gotcha!" George yelled as he swooped down on his prey and grabbed Xavier by the waist, then swung him up in the air. The boy screamed in delighted fear as George lowered him in his arms, then dropped to the ground, pulling Xavier with him.  
  
"George!" Percy's voice, charged with parental worry, carried across to where George was now tickling his nephew mercilessly.  
  
"He won't break, Perce!" George shouted above the writhing, giggling mass of boy.  
  
"He's really wonderful with children, isn't he?" Remus said, the wistful look on his face belying the neutrality of his question.  
  
"I'd sure hope so, given that he and Fred were still acting like children themselves up until, well, you know." Percy pushed his glasses up his nose and glanced at Remus, who was sitting next to him. "Never thought I'd say this, but you seem to be really good for each other."  
  
Remus cocked an eyebrow and gave him a 'well, go on then' look while licking some icing off of his finger, taken from the top of one of Molly's pastries. Percy blanched under the scrutiny. "I mean, not that that's odd, but you're successful and a published scholar, and then there's George."  
  
Remus put the rest of his fingers in his mouth in turn, sucking off more stray sugary fluff. Percy began to backpedal.  
  
"Not that George hasn't done well financially, of course, but he and Fred were already doing that after school, and I just can't fathom what you see in-"  
  
"In a sexy entrepreneur who also teaches one of Hogwarts' most popular electives?"  
  
Percy gulped.  
  
"Oy!" George was striding toward the table, Xavier clasped under one arm, the boy's face red from laughing. "Stop flirting with my brother."  
  
"What?!" Percy exclaimed, a blush beginning in his cheeks. "He's most certainly not-"  
  
"Remus, you know better than to do things like that, thinking I'm not watching."  
  
Percy's gaze moved quickly from George to Remus and back, staring as George plopped his nephew on the ground, then trailed his index and middle fingers through a glop of icing and waved them in front of Remus' mouth.  
  
"Care to suck a little more?" he asked, wriggling the fingers right in front of Remus' lips.  
  
Percy began to look nauseated. "I think Xavier and I are going to go talk to Hermione," he said hurriedly. He got up from the picnic table, took his son by the hand, and walked quickly to another part of the yard, pulling the boy behind him.  
  
"You're cruel," Remus said around a mouthful of George's fingers and icing, swiping his tongue between the sweetened digits.  
  
"He deserves it," George replied maliciously, leaning toward Remus. "Needs to get used to us."  
  
Remus kissed the pads of George's sticky fingers then sat back a bit, looking up at George. "You're in black again."  
  
George took the back of his unlicked hand and wiped a stray tear of sweat from his eyebrow while regarding his clothes. "So I am." Remus patted the seat next to him and George straddled the bench. "Is that supposed to mean something?" he went on, sitting so his right knee was next to his partner's.  
  
George found his hand held in Remus', and after a furtive glance around the yard: Charlie talking to their Dad and Mum; Percy regaling Hermione with some terribly important something or other; Ron throwing an enchanted miniature broom with Xavier; pulled the long fingers and placed them provocatively on his crotch. "Nice day for a shag, don't you think?" He rubbed against Remus' hand, eliciting a husky sigh from the older man.  
  
"Yes. Very nice," Remus replied, running his thumb up the slight hardness in George's trousers. "But there're other things to tend to first. Let's go." He removed his hand and affectionately stroked the red hair of George's goatee with the back of his fingers. "I'm almost used to this," he said, a smile flitting across his mouth.  
  
"I've had it for over a year!" George huffed, indignant.  
  
Remus chuckled, scooting away from the table to stand up and brush stray crumbs of cake off of his vest.  
  
"If you didn't like it, you should've said something before now." George pulled a nearby plate to him, then picked up a fork in his left hand and began making a pattern across the neglected slab of congealed salad, quivering in the mid-afternoon sunlight.  
  
"I do like it. The way it scratches…" Remus let his voice trail off as he tugged gently on George's shoulder. "It's very erotic. Bit surprising, actually."  
  
George grinned and abandoned his burgeoning food art.  
  
"Let's go give our regards to your family."  
  
  
***  
  
  
Half an hour later they were walking in the specially sanctioned graveyard on the periphery of Hogwarts' school grounds. George looked over at Remus' almost empty glass and came to a halt. "Top up?" he asked.  
  
Remus shook his head, then, changing his mind, said, "Well, I suppose so."  
  
"That's the spirit." George poured him a very healthy serving of scotch, and followed it with even more into his own before screwing the lid back on the bottle. When he finished, he saw Remus looking thoughtfully at him.  
  
"You've become quite the drinker," he mused.  
  
"Oy, it's your fault," George said, poking Remus in the shoulder, then drinking a good third of the contents in his tumbler with a satisfying swallow. "You're the one who started foisting this stuff on me. Bad influence, you are."  
  
"I drink bourbon mostly. You know that." Remus studied his glass, then the monument they had paused beside. "There's only one person I knew who was as fond of drinking it in the quantities that you do, rather suddenly, it seems."  
  
George took another swig. "Ron?" he offered, then contradicted himself. "No, he's more a beer'n chips bloke, despite the time in Glasgow."  
  
"Severus Snape."  
  
"Snape?" George exclaimed incredulously, backing up to the stone memorial behind him and assuming a slouch. "Ugh. Couldn't stand him in school, and being partnered with him during reconnaissance didn't exactly make us friends either." He grimaced. "Can't imagine what he would've thought about my mini-lab up in our room seventh year."  
  
"Good thing he can't hear you," Remus said drily, "seeing as how you're right next to his marker."  
  
"Am bloody not!" George retorted. "I'm sure we're at Fred's. That's where we always stop." He thrust his arm back over his shoulder, expecting to feel familiar rock. "Oh, fuck," George hissed, his fingers not meeting the Weasley name, but rather that of Snape. He whipped around, looking menacingly at the marker, gesticulating with his glass of liquor. "Where's Fred? What'd you do to him?"  
  
The memorial resisted George's plea for information and stood resolutely mute.  
  
"C'mon George," Remus said, walking the few steps to be at George's side and placing his arm reassuringly on George's shoulder. "Let's go over to Fred's memorial."  
  
_There's something else going on,_ George thought, the verve of scotch and his inner troublemaker deciding that he'd have nothing to do with Remus' attempt at coddling.  
  
"How do you know about Snape's drinking habits? I didn't think you were close in school or while you were teaching."  
  
There was a pause, as the unexpected balm of late afternoon drifted through the graveyard. Various animated stones made their way amid the bright flowers and other gifts that had been placed that day in memoriam of the end of the war with Voldemort.  
  
"We shagged."  
  
A bit more time passed as George noticed the clouds beginning to accept their sunset colours of lilac and betrayal.  
  
"What?" he asked disbelievingly. He slumped against the tombstone, then remembering whose it was, jerked himself upright from it.  
  
"Shagged. Had sex. Only a few times. At Severus' initiation, actually."  
  
George turned to glare at his lover, astounded into shocked anger. "Why?"  
  
Remus swirled the amber liquid, then drank a goodly amount before answering. "Does it matter? We were two men with similarly dismal and familiar pasts. It wasn't as though people were clamouring to be with a werewolf trying desperately to keep that knowledge a secret. I'm not proud, George, but neither can I honestly say that I regret it."  
  
George drank the rest of the contents of his glass, then poured himself some more. "Merlin, Remus. It's not like I thought you were chaste after Sirius or anything, or, well, maybe I guess I did. I don't think I'm making sense anymore. But knowing that you, and he, it makes me ill. Snape." He shuddered.  
  
"There was more than just Severus. I couldn't tell you the names of all of the men I had sex with in Halifax when I was trying to be a Muggle," Remus murmured, running his hand down to George's hip. "It was a dark time in my life. Consider yourself lucky so far that you haven't-"  
  
"If you say anything about my age I swear to Merlin I will Apparate out of here before you can say 'younger man,'" George growled. Despite himself, George leaned his head against Remus' vest-clad shoulder, desperate to draw Remus' attention back to him and away from Remus' past. "And bloody hell, would it kill you to say you love me, especially after what you just told me? Tell me you're different now than back then. We're handfasted, you and me, and I'm bloody bound to you, and you've never said so." The liquor was positively singing in his veins now, willing his speech and body forward, fast and furious, and definitely not filtered through his head. He straightened up, placed his glass on Snape's marker, then opened his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt so the scar on his chest was plainly visible under his red chest hair. He pulled Remus' hand to his skin, clutching the warm palm against his breastbone. "Bound to you," he said again for emphasis, staring at his partner's eyes, then stepped closer so he was leaning into Remus, hip to hip. "I'm a Weasley. We do have our pride, y'know. We're nobody's second best. Never second best."  
  
George stood for a few moments, waiting for reassurance that he knew was coming. Surely Remus loved him, even if he hadn't said so in words.  
  
"You know I do," Remus said, his voice husky.  
  
George was assaulted by a completely irrational desire to fall to Remus' feet, but his stubborn streak held him in sway. Why he'd had to fall in love with an often-distant werewolf whose past got more convoluted and inaccessible by the minute, he didn't know. He was George ridiculous-jokeshop-owner-Weasley, for heaven's sake. Sod it all, he'd been pursued by this complicated man and he'd liked it.  
  
Liked Remus.  
  
Loved Remus.  
  
Remus, who had apparently fucked half of Halifax and Snape as well. Maybe even before George was ruddy born, because he was always going to be seen as some youngling, though George had been the one to try and console Fred after his daily sessions of Death Eater torture, who had seen his share of death and dealt it during the War, there would always be Remus' past and Sirius…  
  
George dropped to his knees, then rested his head against the beloved thin legs he knew so well. "If you'd just say so, just once," he pleaded into the wool trousers.  
  
Long fingers threaded in his hair. "Something's come over you since your curse-breaking," Remus' calming voice said above him. "I think it has to do with what happened to you at the end of the War."  
  
George snapped. "I think I'm leaving." He wrenched himself away from his bondmate, hastily refastening shirt buttons and grabbing his tumbler to finish his drink, but not before toasting the granite behind Remus. "Sorry for the irony, Snape," he said bitterly. "Guess we shared all kinds of things we didn't know." George looked balefully at Remus. "Talented at potions, mutual loathing, knowing what it's like to be shagged by Remus I'll-never-get-over-Black-but-you'll-do-instead Lupin." He paused. "Cheers." He tossed back the scotch then hurled the glass the short distance so that it shattered satisfyingly against Snape's memorial.  
  
  
***  
  
  
George was still miserable in his half-asleep fog later that night when he felt Remus join him under the covers and heard Remus whisper something he couldn't understand in his ear. In the morning, after abandoning Remus in their bed to salve his raging headache by making an individual batch of his Hogwarts-perfected pepper-up potion, he thought he remembered hearing something when Remus had climbed in, but then decided it'd been his overactive imagination.  
  
  
***  
  
  
He was sitting at the table in Remus' house - their house - wearing his usual tracksuit and cradling his cup of tea when Remus entered, yawning. The full moon had been only two nights ago, and while his transformations were now usually unremarkable, George knew Remus would be more tired than usual until the moon waned a bit.  
  
"Morning," George said froggily, then cleared his throat. "I mean, morning."  
  
Remus shuffled over and kissed him on the top of the head. "Morning. Sleep well?"  
  
George watched Remus pad about the kitchen, fetching a cup and saucer of his own, tightening the sash on his bathrobe, and returning to the table.  
  
"Mmph," George grunted, shrugging his shoulders as Remus pulled out a chair and sat next to him, then poured a cup of tea. "I've been doing some thinking."  
  
Remus raised an eyebrow while blowing away steam from the cup.  
  
"Yes, and that's not such a bloody unlikely occurrence, s'don't start."  
  
"I didn't say anything," Remus replied, smiling into his cup.  
  
"Hang on, you did say something," George said, pouring more milk into his tea. "But before that, I want to say I'm sorry about bolting yesterday. And for other inappropriate behaviour and commentary. Absolutely uncalled for."  
  
Remus transferred his cup to his right hand so he could place his left on George's right. There was a slight clink as their handfasting bands touched. "I told you some unpleasant things about me. You'd every right to your outburst."  
  
George smiled weakly, enjoying the familiar feeling of Remus stroking his fingers.  
  
" _A ghaoil,_ " Remus said, voice raspy with early morning disuse, and George dimly recognised the unfamiliar words as what he'd heard last night.  
  
"Pardon? That's not English." He felt Remus squeeze his fingers.  
  
"No. Gaelic. Means 'my dear,' or 'my love.'"  
  
George felt the strange puddling notion he'd had from yesterday, quickly followed by a flash of guilt. "You're not just doing this because I was begging you, are you? Since obviously that bit about Weasley pride was bollocks."  
  
Remus shook his head. "I should've said so before now. I do adore words, and books, but a few sentiments I've felt were better expressed without them, with actions."  
  
George clenched his bondmate's fingers so tightly his own began to ache. "You're brilliant, Remus. Merlin, you're just bloody perfect." He willed the tremours from his voice.  
  
"Hardly." Remus leaned over, caressed the hair of George's goatee, and kissed him. George loosened his grip on Remus' hand as he closed his eyes and kissed back.  
  
Soon George sent out his tongue, pushing Remus' lips apart, tasting sugary tea and somewhat stale flavour of morning mouth. At that moment he didn't care.  
  
Remus did, however, as he responded with less enthusiasm and pulled back. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I'd rather brush my teeth before doing much more of that."  
  
George smiled, leaning away but lifting a hand to caress Remus' collarbone. "S'alright. I understand." He played with the handle of his teacup. "Can't imagine post-pepper-up and tea mixture is so delightful either."  
  
A little while later George was tucking into breakfast- a hot one, shockingly, and made without magic. Remus had decided after all of their imbibing at the graveyard that a hearty breakfast would do them good. "It's practically brunch anyway," Remus had sighed, looking at the clock.  
  
After swallowing a mouthful of beans on toast, George asked, "How d'you know Gaelic? Are you holding out on me on some secret spell thing for ASWA?"  
  
Remus cut into a grilled tomato. "Not at all. The Anglo-Saxon Wizarding Association is hardly a group focused on intrigue. Before I was bitten, I spent some summers with a great-aunt in Calanais in the wilds of the Outer Hebrides. That's probably where I first developed an interest in standing stones, as there's an impressive set there, but I also picked up some of the language. Not much; a few phrases, maybe." He added some egg to the tomato and speared it with his fork. "I saw her a few times after that as I was growing up, but it was a challenge." He ate the mouthful and chewed thoughtfully. "I'm not sure why that phrase came to me like that."  
  
"Doesn't matter. I was just curious." George spooned an inordinate amount of preserves onto a triangle of toast. "So, like I said before you made this gorgeous meal," he chomped down on the bread, "I've been thinking."  
  
Remus shook his head and focused his attentions to some bacon.  
  
George went on, chewing and speaking. "No, honestly. This morning, I was making that potion and thinking about what you'd said about the War. I thought I'd tell you a bit about what it was like for me. At least until the Snape part."  
  
A troubled expression crossed Remus' face. "Are you sure?"  
  
"Yeah. Might as well, though I'm no hero or anything."  
  
Remus trailed some toast through a golden smear of egg yolk. "I do want us to talk about it -"  
  
"Least I can do," George interrupted. "D'you remember it was you who had that flask handy at Fred's funeral? I couldn't have gotten a bloody word out if you hadn't found me. Barely got the words out anyway." He went to take a sip of tea, then saw his cup was empty, so he pulled out his wand and tapped the kettle.  
  
"But not right this minute," Remus continued, despite the interruption. He began screwing the lids back onto the jars of preserves. "Mind if I get a shower first? I'd really like to get cleaned up before discussing some of the business that went on."  
  
"Suits me," George replied, pouring himself some steaming tea, then adding milk and sugar.  
  
"Back in a few." Remus headed toward their toilet.  
  
Upon listening to the water of the shower for several minutes, George was hit with inspiration. Gratitude. Lust. Something along those lines. After retrieving two key items from their room, he shed his track suit and went into the warm bathroom, thick with steam.  
  
"George? I'm almost finished," Remus called from the large claw-footed tub.  
  
George could imagine what Remus looked like, mostly-silver hair clinging wetly on his shoulders, his scarred back turned pink with hot water; he would be doing his last ablutions, soaping himself up between his legs before rinsing and cutting off the tap.  
  
Which George decided he mustn't do. Yet.  
  
George surreptitiously stepped into the bathtub, the noise covered by the old and noisy piping.  
  
"Take your time," George said meaningfully into Remus' ear, sidling up behind him, his growing erection nudging under Remus' arsecheeks, inflamed from the pounding water.  
  
"George! What are you doing?" Remus exclaimed, spraying the words as he tried to step back from the showerhead. George held him by the waist, looking down to see his cock grazing the underside of Remus' slightly squarish backside.  
  
"What does it feel like?" George asked, provocatively rubbing into Remus as he attached his Christmas present on his lover. The magical cock ring flashed 'Property of George X. Weasley,' though its brightness was dimmed by the mist and soapy bubbles that had been on George's hand as he'd fastened it.  
  
"Merlin!" Remus moaned, leaning back into George's chest. George began pulling tenderly on Remus' flaccid cock, smiling to himself as he worked it into a more aroused state. He was going to take Remus this morning. Something unexpected- plus, he'd never had a shag in the shower. It was one of the few fantasies George had entertained that he'd not acted on before, as it seemed awkward and potentially dangerous. But also sexy as hell.  
  
He switched hands so his dominant left hand was on himself, not that George needed much assistance now, but he also wanted to apply some lubricant and he got all sloppy using his right hand, with or without running water being involved.  
  
"Is this okay?" George asked Remus' earlobe, then ran his tongue over it as he let his ring finger slide up Remus' cleft.  
  
"Very. Okay," Remus panted into the air, tolerating George's more-clumsy clutchings on his cock, which now throbbed despite being constricted at its base.  
  
George slicked the lubricant on himself, admiring Remus' body. As he situated himself, he realised that while they weren't unmanageably different in height, Remus was all legs. And George was all torso. And he was not getting a bloody footstool.  
  
"Remus, would you mind turning just a bit and holding the shower pole?"  
  
It was awkward. And dangerous. And sexy as hell. George pushed the head of his cock though the tight entrance; gently, gently as he could manage until he couldn't do gently anymore. Remus' hands were clasped to the sturdy pipes, a washcloth placed over the metal as they weren't well-insulated, shoving back in time with George's thrusts. Hot water showered down on them; George had poured more of the vial's contents on his hand and was fisting Remus with his left hand while he'd wrapped his right arm around Remus' solid hipbones.  
  
"Oh Remus. Remus, Remus, Remus… Merlin. Always wanted to do this."  
  
"You've. Never. Said. So," Remus admirably managed, one word per delicious wet slap of naked skin.  
  
"Still some surprises, I've got," George said into Remus' upper back. He adjusted his angle so his cock would hit that spot deep within Remus' body that Remus could ply so easily when making love to George. George twisted a bit to the left, then right -  
  
"Oh, fuck, George!"  
  
_Found it!_ Rather proud of himself, as he was usually quite content to let Remus shag him, George took Remus fiercely, going for that spot, hearing the brilliant good-fuck sounds Remus was making, again and again. Then he slid his fingers down the base of Remus' cock and snapped off the ring.  
  
With an eruption of gasped intimate profanity and creamy splotches like a Pollock painting, Remus came all over the shower curtain.  
  
Not long after, George did as well, both hands holding Remus' hips for dear life. It was so different, being accepted in the clenching, tight heat- as he held the wet skin, feeling his orgasm subside wavelike, in short shudders, George splayed his fingers further in to feel the edges of Remus' curly hair.  
  
_Pretty brilliant,_ he decided. _But not for every day._  
  
  
***  
  
  
After their memorable shower, Remus went off to make tea. George took his time getting dressed, remembering the day he'd told Molly he was going into the army. Organising of witches and wizards into discreet, particular fighting enclaves against Voldemort, Death Eaters, and any other creatures allied with the Dark Lord had begun prior to the attack on the joke shop, but he and Fred hadn't paid too much attention. Until they were taken hostage, that is, and Fred tortured and killed. After that, it was only a matter of weeks before he'd made contacts with some of the Order members and had enlisted.  
  
_"No, George, I can't allow it!"  
  
"You can't stop me. I'm of age, for Merlin's sake! I can't just put the shop back together as though nothing happened. They killed Fred. They fucking killed Fred!"  
  
"Don't you use that language around me, George Weasley! Nobody is more aware of Fred's loss than me. That's why I can't let you do this. Bill and Charlie are already involved, your father's attack last Christmas-"  
  
"They need everybody. Even someone like me. I've enough anger now to cast an arsenal of unforgiveables."  
  
"George, please." She grabbed his hands, holding them tightly on the table. "I can't bear to lose you, too."  
  
He shook his head. "I'm only half a person anyway."  
  
"Oh George, you mustn't say things like that." George could see tears in her eyes, but she held herself in check. "You know you don't mean it."  
  
"Actually, Mum, most of the time I do. My heart's not into anything, least of all Wheezes. Selling gags doesn't seem right with all that's going on."  
  
They sat in silence for a few minutes, then George spoke quietly. "I'm leaving this afternoon. One of the reconnaissance units, but I'm not allowed to tell you which one."  
  
"This afternoon?" Molly looked stricken. "But there's no time!"  
  
"Exactly." George gently disengaged his hands from his mother's clutch as he stood from the table, then pulled her up, holding her to him. "There's no more time," he whispered, burying his face in her red hair. "I love you, y'know. I'll owl or get news to you somehow. I promise."  
  
"You be careful, George," she said sternly, almost crushing him in her hold, then released him. "You'd better come back to me, you hear?" Her voice was rough with emotion.  
  
"'Course, Mum."  
  
An hour or so later, George willed himself not to look back when he Apparated from the Burrow._  
  
"George? Care to come out on the porch?" Remus' voice carried from the kitchen, bringing George back to the present.  
  
"Sure." In stocking feet he walked down the corridor and met up with Remus, who had opened the door to the front veranda and was levitating the tea kettle and two cups and saucers through it. George felt the outside breeze and shivered. "It's a bit brisk to be outside, don't you think?" George asked, rubbing his arms.  
  
"I've got the fire going in the stove, not to worry." Remus smiled. "For being English, you're not very tolerant of the cold."  
  
The door shut behind them as they walked over to two chairs near an old wood-burning stove Remus said had come from some distant relative.  
  
"Compared to your inner temperature, it wouldn't matter if I were an Eskimo." Remus smacked him on the arse. "Oy!" George said, turning around. "No need for discipline." He gave Remus a heavy-lidded look. "Or maybe there is," he continued, sticking out his backside and wiggling it.  
  
"You're quite keen today, aren't you?" Remus said, grabbing at one of George's arsecheeks. "Maybe later. If you're still in the mood."  
  
George dropped into a chair then looked for something to prop his feet on. "Can I borrow your wand?" he asked, and Remus handed it over. George and Fred both had taught themselves some rudimentary wandless magic when their Mum had begun taking their wands away for periods in the summer, but transfiguration was much easier with a conduit, even if it wasn't his own wand. He focused, and the empty flowerpot became a cushioned ottoman. "Cheers," he said, returning the wand.  
  
They sipped tea in silence for a couple of minutes, then George burst out, "Were you with Harry at the end? I hadn't really understood what all went on, but last we'd heard before Snape and I were ambushed was that you and Moody and Dumbledore had figured out a last assault. And I was out for a while, never really known what happened and was so glad to be alive and not missing any important bits that I hadn't bothered to find out the details."  
  
Remus nodded. "I was. There are still some aspects to it all that I don't understand. Why were you paired with Severus? I thought that your division- you were in Malfoy territory, right?"  
  
"Yeah. I would never've believed how many houses, and companies, and spies the man had until we started mapping them all out." George shook his head at the memory.  
  
"But recons were supposed to be in groups of three."  
  
"I know. We had been up until a few days before that. We'd lost MacLeod and there wasn't anyone else to spare." George stared into the flames of the stove. "That was a really bad loss, MacLeod." He looked over at Remus, who was nodding, encouraging him to continue. George focused on the golden eyes, crinkles in the corners, wondering briefly to himself how he'd gone from barely paying attention to Professor Lupin in class several years ago to the man being his life partner, with all of the disasters and some high points in between. Then he was looking at MacLeod in his mind's eye, before he'd had to bury him and send notice to his mother. "Life's a bastard at times," he said.  
  
Remus lounged in his chair, propping his head against his hand. "Now there's an understatement," he said wryly.  
  
George stared into his tea.  
  
_"Ye're who? Weasley? Right. MacLeod. Jon MacLeod."  
  
A wizard around George's age with wide shoulders and short brown hair introduced himself. "Glad to have another mate with us. We're taking out Malfoy's spies and all that. Bit brutal, so I'm grateful ye've got some muscle on ye."  
  
It'd taken George a few days to get used to his highland brogue, but it began to become comforting, especially when he found out the third person in their group was to be none other than Severus Snape.  
  
"Rest assured, I find this no more pleasant than you do, Weasley," the former Potions Master had said the first time the three of them gathered at the central Apparation point, having the arrival coordinates handed to them on parchment which spontaneously combusted after a few seconds. "I cannot believe I'm supposed to find my way into one of Malfoy's prisons with an ex-sheepherder and a Hogwarts' dropout," Snape fumed, his brows so furrowed George thought he must have a headache.  
  
"Pleasure being with your sunny company too," George tossed back. "Better with us than dead, eh?"  
  
Snape glared at him. "I'm not so sure."_  
  
"George? Hello?"  
  
George snapped out of his reverie. "Oh, sorry. Just thinking about… Well, I met MacLeod and put up with Snape and it wasn't too bad, at first."  
  
Remus nodded, pulling hair behind his ear. "Go on."  
  
"Sure," George sighed, and gave an overview of the couple of months he spent with Reconnaissance Four.  
  
  
***  
  
  
_The missions went on and on, even though they were able to find less and less. Somehow Lucius or someone near him must have figured out that people were getting through into his euphemistically called detention centres, as they stopped finding hostages and began discovering only corpses.  
  
Then came the afternoon when one of the key wards to their hideout was blasted away. George rushed into the fray, MacLeod at his heels, faced with a barrage of Death Eaters, some brazenly attacking on brooms, others on foot. Deadly curses and vile green light shot everywhere. It was all over in minutes, but not before George had narrowly missed a killing curse while pummeling a man who'd launched himself at George, who was protecting MacLeod. Jon had taken out two Death Eaters while desperately trying to reinforce some of the warding, but then was struck in the face with a cruciatus and fell writhing to the ground. George kneed the Death Eater in the groin and stomped viciously on his wand hand, feeling the sickening sensation of crunching bone.  
  
As the haze of spent magic slowly lifted from the scene, it became apparent they'd lost two people, their Arithmancy expert and an overly-polite but excellent magic tracker who'd just finished school at Durmstrang. Their small group of fifteen was now thirteen, and they had to move their headquarters. Everyone was sleep-deprived and the news about how to get Harry close enough and prepared enough to defeat Voldemort that trickled to them was less than inspiring. But they had to keep on; survival and removing the underpinnings from Malfoy so he would crumble were all that mattered. For George, it was all revenge for Fred's death, but killing left him drained, and ill.  
  
Owling anything was strictly forbidden, though George had had the foresight to pack a couple of charmed boomerang kites. If his spells were worth anything, and he hoped to Merlin they were, they would home to the Burrow, and his Mum would know how to disenchant the cloth to read his messages. They all kept their magic use to an absolute minimum since it could be traced and clusters of it would give away their location.  
  
There was a small stream flowing nearby, but it was coming into autumn in earnest and the water was frigid. Bathing was done sparingly. Everybody looked dirty, yet no one fretted about it. Alive was good. Clean would be a bonus, but it was rather low on the list compared to still breathing.  
  
One night George couldn't sleep, the juxtaposing images of dead witches and wizards with Fred and their shop, the shelves full to bursting, crowded his mind, keeping him awake. _ Maybe Fred's better off, _he thought, teeth beginning to chatter as he pulled his blanket over his face._ War's bollocks. It's all going to come to a crashing end before long and I don't even have an inheritor- oh fuck, should've put something on that last kite to Mum that Ginny should get the shop if I don't come back, oh fucking, fucking hell. _  
  
There was a tentative, warm hand on his shoulder.  
  
"Weasley," he heard whispered in a heavy accent, "s'bloody freezing. D'ye mind?"  
  
"Fuck, no," George hissed back, grateful for the body heat as MacLeod situated himself rather gracelessly next to George, knees bumping his legs, a forehead knocking into his neck. But oh, the heat! George wedged back into Jon as tightly as possible, positively grasping at the arm that insinuated itself over his chest. He lay there for a while, relishing the warmth spread out behind him. Then he felt guilty. He wasn't doing anything for MacLeod, just absorbing warmth from him like a bloody leech. Then he felt… he felt a hardness. And he was growing hard as well.  
  
Bloody hell, what was all this? He wasn't a shirtlifter. He'd had fancies for all kinds of girls. Well, one. That had gone nowhere. But that didn't mean -  
  
The hand, familiar enough in George's mind's eye from write-ups he'd seen MacLeod scratch out with quill on parchment, fingers rough from crofting, was making its way down his chest and stomach, pausing at the button on George's pants. They all slept in their uniforms, as any other niceties were long gone, used up during their weeks on the deadly quiet front lines of a war whose unmarked boundaries changed by the minute.  
  
"Weasley?" the voice was in his ear, entreating.  
  
"Dunno," George mumbled, confused. "Well, okay, I s'pose."  
  
Prickly hair rubbed against his neck as MacLeod nodded in response. Once the hand had found George's rigid cock, his body was on fire. There wasn't even any kissing but he knew this was right, though he was shocked by it. Fred would never understand, but George decided after he was dead, he'd have forever to try and explain since Mum'd had a portrait done of the two of them, and he could enjoy watching Fred have fits after whenever he was killed and found himself in Fred's company again.  
  
George put his hand on MacLeod's, stilling it, then turned his head over his shoulder. "Can I turn over?" he whispered. "D'you mind? Like to see you," he offered.  
  
"Aye," MacLeod replied.  
  
They couldn't risk the cleaning spell when it was over, but George knew they were all existing in degrees of filthy and it wouldn't matter that they used a bit of cloth from his bed. He'd never felt anything as brilliant as that, shafts rubbing together, held in MacLeod's talented hand; brooding, silent masculine kisses that went straight to his pulsing cock.  
  
Blokes. Or bloke. He fancied a bloody bloke.  
  
_ Definitely will not be telling Mum this, _he decided, his chest to MacLeod's back, not caring who found them. Unless it was Snape.  
  
  
***  
  
  
They'd slept next to each other every night following that. No one seemed to care, or they were all too exhausted to notice. George thought he might have heard a liaison between two others in their unit, but he turned a deaf ear. Only Snape resolutely kept to himself, always taking the last watch, always curled up in his corner of the warded tent that served as their shelter. George tried talking to him once or twice when there was a lull, even dragging out a tattered fabric chessboard with tiny pieces to lure him into a game.  
  
"Isn't it enough to be a pawn, Weasley? Why do you think I'd bloody well be interested in engaging in even more strategy?" Snape had snapped, then turned back to his maps, studying them.  
  
"Well. Fuck me for trying to be civil," George replied, then shoved the chess bits into his bedroll and went looking for Jon. The Scot was about to go on patrol with Lewis, but George couldn't stand the thought of being stuck in that bloody tent for another minute, so he switched times and took Lewis' place. She shrugged as she agreed to the change.  
  
"Nap sounds delightful," she said, then began a coughing fit that was still going on as the two began to walk the perimeter of their camp. Half of their force was sick on top of everything else, and with such restricted use of magic and limited ingredients for potions, most people simply suffered through.  
  
They were around two-thirds of the way through their perimeter walk when MacLeod stopped. George leaned into him. "What is it?" he asked, keeping his voice down. It was one of the woodiest areas, sheltered but also a likely locale for a breach, were there to be one.  
  
"D'ye want me, George?"  
  
George stood for a minute, absolutely transfixed by the vague question. "Do I what?" he asked. "Want you how? Are you getting ill too? Bollocks." He placed his hand on MacLeod's forehead, but Jon pulled it down and took George's face in his hands and kissed him, roughly and possessively. George responded in kind, feeling himself become aroused despite the danger.  
  
Breathing heavily, MacLeod murmured into George's ear, "Ye feel s'bloody good. D'ye want me like that, canna have you like that?" He ran his hands down George's back to his arse, pulling their hips in so George could feel their erections rubbing together. He felt like an idiot, but decided he was so far beyond shame that it didn't matter.  
  
"I reckon, but you're dealing with a bloody virgin, so I don't really know what you're asking. But if it feels like the other things we've done, then yeah."  
  
MacLeod suckled on his neck for a moment, drawing his wide fingers from the small of George's back down his cleft, pushing against his opening through the layers of fabric. "There," he said, his voice ragged with need. "S'where it goes."  
  
A million thoughts raced through George's mind, and they all ended with, 'But how can that work?'  
  
"We can't take too long, but I'll be gentle with ye, at least for the first bit," MacLeod said, grinning.  
  
That was how he'd lost his virginity, extraordinary discomfort and pain giving way to stunning sensations he could never have imagined. MacLeod had snuck some cooking oil as a lubricant, seemingly with no small amount of foresight or hopefulness. George clutched at a boulder as he was breached, a stream of "oh fuck"s chanted quietly through gritted teeth. Then there was unbelievable fullness and MacLeod was in him. He gasped as something was terribly right and he was rocking back and back and MacLeod was pumping his cock and he thought he started to feel rain on his face and shite he was going to explode. And he did, in fact, his orgasm spurting all over the surprisingly tender fingers as MacLeod continued to pound into him, then came moments later uttering George's name.  
  
"Just this once," MacLeod whispered after he'd gingerly pulled out of George. He murmured something George couldn't hear, but he felt the effects immediately. George instinctively knew that he would be very sore, but whatever spell MacLeod had cast at cost to their safety would make it easier._  
  
"What happened to him?" Remus asked as George shivered against the cold, wishing he had on a jumper. "You can tell me and then we'll go inside."  
  
George scratched at his nose. "Died. Can we go inside now?"  
  
Remus nodded solemnly.  
  
"He caught something a week or so after that," George went on, pulling his feet from the ottoman and up into his chair. "Everybody was sick, but he got struck down with something awful and Snape was still pretending to play both sides, gone for days at a time. I'm good with potions, but not like he is. I tried everything I knew but he got worse and worse with fever and Snape didn't come back for ages. It was near the end of the War, but we couldn't have known at the time."  
  
George studied his hands holding his teacup and long-neglected tea. "Bloody awful, it was," he said, staring at his freckles. "He was a really great bloke, clever as anything, and he did right by me. I just wasn't ready to wake up with somebody else dead in my arms, y'know? It made me a bit reckless. Everything seemed so sodding pointless."  
  
Remus unfurled from his chair and knelt by George's legs. "You did what you could."  
  
"Right. But me doing what I could never seemed to be enough. I couldn't save Fred, MacLeod, even Snape, though I didn't care nearly so much about him. Please tell me you're not planning some stunning exit too. Couldn't fucking bear it." George looked out across the small apple orchard near the house, the sun hanging low in the sky and casting warped shadows through the trees.  
  
"Not if I can help it," Remus rumbled into George's lap. "C'mon, let's go and have a lie-down."  
  
George allowed himself to be pulled from the chair and followed Remus into the house. Despite the early afternoon hour, Remus poured them both a brandy. "Prevents bad dreams," he said with a small smile.  
  
A few minutes later, George was ensconced in their large four-poster, stripped down to his boxers due to Remus' body heat, lying on his back, a hand behind his head. Remus sprawled next to him, one arm across George's chest.  
  
"Thanks for telling me all of that," Remus said, his breath tickling into George's ear as Remus pulled him closer. "Means a lot to me."  
  
George stared at the ceiling. "Guess there's still this Snape-obsessive bit, though, eh?"  
  
Familiar fingers moved up from George's ribs to his face, turning it toward Remus, who leaned in to kiss him. "Later."  
  
George drifted off to the soothing warmth of Remus' chest rising and falling next to him.  
  
  
***  
  
  
As George made his way down the Hogwarts corridors to his room a few weeks later, he marvelled at the students in his entrepreneurial enclave, their parchments from their biweekly meeting carefully labelled and in his knapsack. Their ideas were clever, their plans well thought out and researched, for the most part, anyway. It was reassuring to George to know that there was a new generation of youths at the school intent on pursuing their dreams to their presumably lucrative ends, as he and Fred had done. He raised his wand as he reached his door, turning the sign below 'The Wizard Weasley Is' from **Out** to **In** , then entered his small study and adjoining bedroom. He pulled out the scrolls and put them in a large wooden cubbyhole above a shelf functioning as his desk, noting that none of his protégés were interested in opening yet another jokeshop. George could hardly blame them; as much as he still loved doing what he did at Wheezes, the gag-selling market was still a pretty small one.  
  
The rest of his afternoon was spent uneventfully, making comments on his second-years' outlines for upcoming research papers on a series of charms that all had a tickling element to them. His room was cozy with a fire lit in the grate, a glass of scotch at his hand as he marked pointers and suggestions. He didn't have any visitors through the afternoon, so he managed to get loads accomplished. By seven he stood at his fireplace, powder in his hand, about to go to the shop when he heard a knock at the door.  
  
"'S'open!" he yelled, stepping back from the grate and realising he hadn't turned the sign in the corridor back around. It was a bit late for a student, though, especially since it was a Friday.  
  
"You are in! I thought you'd just forgotten to turn your sign around. Again."  
  
Remus lounged in the doorframe.  
  
George gave him an insulted look. "Oy. You're just about in my office. No insulting the professor unless you want detention." He tried discreetly to pour the floo powder back into the bowl.  
  
Remus noticed. "I'll risk it. You were on your way out." He flipped the sign from **In** to **Out**. "Going to Wheezes?"  
  
George nodded in the affirmative as Remus walked in, shutting and locking the door behind him. "Mind if I join you? I haven't sent anything to Oleana in a while, and I think you've come up with a couple of items she might fancy to torture her brother with."  
  
"Sure," George said, grinning. He'd finally met Remus' second cousin once removed a year or so ago and likened her to a much-younger Ginny. "I'm working all day tomorrow - need to give Zap a break."  
  
"Such a busy man," Remus said as he watched George adjust his shirt over the waist of his pants. "Still favouring black, are we?"  
  
George rolled his eyes, then walked the few steps to Remus, pulled him in by the coat lapels, and kissed him vigorously. "I've gotten a few compliments on these pants, I'll have you know."  
  
Remus appraised him, placing his hands on George's hips. "I've noticed you seem quite content to keep wearing those practically indecent leathers posing as trousers despite the fact that they've driven students and faculty to distraction, even under your robes." His long fingers looped through the belt loops on both sides, tugging near George's hipbones. "Should I be worried? I'm not getting any younger, after all, unless Malfoy has slipped something I don't know about into my wolfsbane."  
  
"I'd know if he did," George replied, leaning in and giving Remus a thorough sniffing at his neck. "You'd smell different." He nibbled on Remus' earlobe, eliciting a pleased low rumble from the older man. George gently moved out of Remus' hold and went to the fireplace. "C'mon. And don't think you're being subtle. I know you still want to do that- that memory thing."  
  
"Guilty. But it's a bit complicated. Nothing like that binding spell, but it can wait until tomorrow evening after you've closed up. I'd like to be at your place, at the Cleansweep, if that's right by you."  
  
"Sure," George shrugged. "Though I suppose I should get serious about hauling the rest of my rubbish to the house. Even after a growing up in the Burrow, I'm not so desperate for privacy that I need three places to call home." He snorted.  
  
"Two's probably plenty, you're right. Has Fred decided where he wants to be?" Remus asked, scooping up a handful of floo powder.  
  
A pained expression crossed George's freckled face. "Let's talk about it after we go by the shop. He's being a bleeding arse about it, not that I blame him." He stepped in front of Remus, grasped some green granules and threw them into the fireplace. "Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes."  
  
  
***  
  
  
The store had been busy most of the day, though it wasn't enough when there was a lull in customer activity to keep George's mind from wandering to the spell Remus was going to cast on him. At six o'clock he flipped the storefront sign to "You Must Be Joking," locked the door, extinguished the lights with a nox, put on his coat and made his way to the fireplace in the back. He stood for a moment, wavering between using the floo network or simply flying home. For the sake of time, he used the former.  
  
"The Cleansweep."  
  
As he brushed himself off, he stared open-mouthed at the living room.  
  
"You've tidied up- and moved the furniture!" George exclaimed as Remus looked out from the kitchen.  
  
"Yes I did. Thought it would be good to have the open space." Remus disappeared, and George heard the sound of a glass being taken from a cupboard and something being poured.  
  
"Fred? You there?" George called, walking to his bedroom. There was no answer. He tugged off his coat and dropped it on the bed. George looked at the portrait above his chest of drawers, the chair empty save a note propped on the seat.

_Visiting Bill. Lupin said the word Snape too much for my liking. Back later._

  
  
George started when he felt his shoulder tapped and whirled around.  
  
"Sorry to startle you," Remus said, handing him a tumbler of scotch, neat. "I hope you don't mind, both this," he gestured at the glass, "and that." He pointed to the portrait. "I just felt Fred might want to be warned."  
  
George took a mouthful and swallowed slowly, focusing on the burn as the alcohol went down his throat. "You're not making me feel any more at ease about this," he complained, then coughed as Remus stepped in to run a hand across George's groin. "Oy! You're a bit forward," George spluttered. "I just walked in the door."  
  
"I know," Remus replied, placing his hand less provocatively at the small of George's back. "But you should be as relaxed as possible. I've had a couple of ideas."  
  
The glow of the liquor had already made its way to George's belly, and he nodded. "Tell me."  
  
  
***  
  
  
About fifteen minutes later George was lying naked on his back, cushioned by a long, transfigured blanket, wrists bound a few inches apart and over his head. George closed his eyes, absorbing the heat from the nearby fire, drowning in the sensation of his cock jutting into his lifemate's mouth, the fine line of pain and pleasure wrought with tongue and teeth, barely able to stand the tension building far between his legs as Remus deftly thrust into him with well-oiled fingers.  
  
"Oh, bloody fuck!" An unexpected, and decidedly shocked voice exploded from the fireplace. "Sorry! Back later!"  
  
George's eyelids flew open in horror. "Ron?!" his voice cracked in embarrassment and overwhelming passion as Remus ministered George's body to an intense orgasm. George shuddered, his cock pulsing against Remus' throat, arse clenching even as the waves of pleasure ebbed, prolonged slightly as Remus' talented fingers nestled inside him and one of his nipples was plucked by Remus' other hand.  
  
"Oh Merlin, Remus," George said finally. He heard Remus incant the spell to unbind his hands, and George pulled his lover to him, wrenching a deep kiss from Remus, his tongue licking all through Remus' mouth, tasting his own unique bittertang and faint echo of chocolate from the biscuits they'd eaten earlier.  
  
When Remus pulled back, George kept his hands on the other man's wiry arms. "That was incredible," he breathed, boneless against the cushion. "I'd do anything you'd ask, now," he went on, his thumbs tracing one of Remus' old white scars like a cartographer marking a beloved trail.  
  
"That was part of the point," Remus murmured, his gaze taking in George's form.  
  
"Piss-poor timing, Ron has," George said, wincing at the memory. _Merlin, but I never want to see him in any situation like that,_ he thought quickly. _He's probably traumatised for life._  
  
"I invited him."  
  
George squirmed, dredging himself up to lean on an elbow. "You what?"  
  
"I invited him. I thought someone should keep notes, and Hermione is otherwise involved, and you saw Fred's opinion."  
  
"So you-"  
  
"I asked Ron. Please don't make me say it again." Remus pinched one of George's nipples, then got up from the floor as George made a profane grunting sound.  
  
"Poor bloke," George started, but Remus leaned over him, extending his hand.  
  
"Why don't you finish your drink and take a quick hot shower? I'll apologise to Ron when he shows up again."  
  
Sure enough, Ron was sitting on the couch with a beer in hand when George walked back into the room a while later, his hair still dripping onto the collar of his tracksuit.  
  
"Merlin, Ron. Sorry 'bout that," George said immediately. "I know you'd never want-"  
  
"Don't want to think about it again, thanks, and Lupin's already fixed things." He waved the bottle toward Remus, poised between the kitchen and living room. "Besides, I've seen worse." He gave a small belch. "Don't want to think about that either. Now what exactly are you going to do to George?" Ron drank some of his beer as George walked toward Remus, who had another tumbler of scotch.  
  
"You trying to get me drunk?" George asked, reaching for the glass. "Last time it was ugly, you remember."  
  
Remus shook his head. "No, just making sure that you aren't keeping guards up." He walked across the floor to sit on a threadbare but surprisingly comfortable chair Fred had had swiped from the Burrow years ago. "Intentional or otherwise."  
  
George went to sit by Ron, who patted the spot next to him. George sank gratefully into the seat cushion, still finding it disconcerting how long Ron's legs were as they stretched out in a v-shape, the heels of his younger brother's shoes anchored on the floor rug.  
  
"Ron, in answer to your question, I have another. Have you two ever thought about the qualities we possess that make us wizards?" Remus asked. "Or what it is at our essence that makes us different from Muggles?"  
  
After a brief pause, Ron and George said, "No," at the same time, then looked at each other and grinned, sharing a dual, familial spark of immediate understanding.  
  
"Hermione's always getting onto me about it, but I just don't see the point, really," Ron went on, shrugging and picking at the label on his ale bottle with his thumb.  
  
"It's never seemed relevant," George added. "I mean, I've had some doings in Muggle life. I'm not a complete dolt, thanks all the same. I went with Ron and the Green Knights to Canada and we weren't always around other wizards, but what does that have to do with this?"  
  
"We are magical."  
  
Ron looked at George, his expression one of _'Why is he being so obvious?'_ to which George raised his eyebrows in reply with an unspoken _'Dunno.'_  
  
"Oh, wait," Ron said animatedly, leaning up from the back of the couch. "You're going to say this has something to do with you being a werewolf, aren't you?"  
  
"No. I'm not." Remus replied, looking amused.  
  
"Oh." Ron collapsed back against the couch, deflated.  
  
"Remus, what are you getting at?" George asked. "We're wizards. We're not Muggles. So what? They have automobiles and telephones and all kinds of amazing things but all it takes is an Obliviate spell and they'll forget they saw anything to do with us. I thought you had some issue with me and the end of the War and… Snape."  
  
"Precisely."  
  
"So what's with the random questions? I'm going to need more relaxing if you keep this up." George started to lounge meaningfully with his legs open in invitation, then knocked his knee against Ron's and suddenly remembered they had company. "Just get on with it. Please," he pleaded, sitting upright and downing his drink. "And if it's going to be worse than me being naked in the ocean with Hermione draping seaweed on my arms, don't bother to tell me. I don't want to know."  
  
"I didn't want to know that!" Ron exclaimed, giving George a disturbed look. "She had to… see you…"  
  
"Yes. Horrifying. She's a good one, Hermione." George patted Ron on the thigh. "Better marry her before she really thinks about what she's gotten into. Though if she didn't run screaming after the binding spell, and she's still putting up with your shite after all these years, she must be a keeper."  
  
Ron began to blush. "Well, I was going to ask on our anniversary," he said sheepishly, tearing off more bits of damp paper.  
  
"Really?" George raised his empty glass and knocked it against Ron's bottle. "That's bloody good of you," he said, smiling. "Hear that, Remus?"  
  
Remus nodded. "Even I was beginning to wonder. I'll look forward to hearing her exact response." His eyes crinkled as he smiled. "If it's acceptable for mixed company, that is"  
  
A deep crimson crept down from Ron's cheeks to his neck. "Bugger off, you two," he mumbled.  
  
"Right. Well, as wonderful as Ron's news is, that's not why he's here," Remus said, his voice much more focused. George looked at him, struck as he often was at how commanding a presence he had despite his slight frame and deceptively reticent demeanour. Aside from Larkspur, the student werewolf, George hadn't ever met any other changelings, and he was never sure whether the demanding qualities to Remus' voice had to do with his volatile physicality or if it was simply Remus. But he knew he wouldn't dare not to pay attention when Remus spoke like that.  
  
"George was the last person to see Severus Snape alive." Remus spoke as though reading from a report, his gaze focused intently on George. "I've known Severus since our school days at Hogwarts, and in multiple capacities, some less pleasant than others."  
  
George looked down into the slight pool of liquid in his glass, unwilling to think of his bondmate with Snape, something that made him physically ill. Ron shifted next to him, glancing at George with a raised eyebrow, but George only shook his head.  
  
"All witches and wizards, at least all that I can tell from my research, possess individual auralic patterns indicative of their magic, in the same way that Muggles have unique whorled patterns on the pads of their fingers."  
  
Quite despite themselves, both George and Ron immediately placed their respective glasses between their knees and stared at their fingertips.  
  
"Never paid any attention to that," Ron said, his right hand mere inches from his face, one eye shut to stare at the possible mysteries held in his fingers. "Does it matter? It's too dark in here. Can't tell what he's talking about."  
  
"Muggles, he said," George replied under his breath, squinting at the second, third, and fourth fingers of his left hand, unsure exactly what the word 'whorl' meant.  
  
"George. Ron." Remus sounded a bit annoyed. "I'm sure that you have unique fingerprints. That's not the point; it was an illustration."  
  
"Fred's right," Ron attempted to whisper. "Lupin's a walking dictionary."  
  
"When'd you see Fred?" George began to pry. "And why's he talking to you about Remus?"  
  
"GEORGEANDRON." The voice demanded attention; George and Ron grew quiet and lowered their hands. "Ron, please stand in the middle of the carpet."  
  
"What?" Ron bellowed. "I'm here to take notes, that's what you said."  
  
"And you will. This is just a demonstration."  
  
Ron looked menacingly at George. "Wasn't it enough punishment to see you, doing… that? With him? I know, I know," he continued as George made apologetic noises to his right. "It was an accident. What's this all about?"  
  
"I don't know!" George said, frustrated. "Remus, never mind the demonstration. Let's just get on with it."  
  
"As you wish."  
  
George placed his glass on the floor, grabbed the armrest on the couch and pulled himself up, then walked to the middle of the carpet. He heard Ron shuffle around behind him, fetching his paper and quill. "What do I do now?"  
  
"Nothing quite yet." Remus spoke far more soothingly than before. "First I'll ward the room with three particular barriers, and also temporarily block the Cleansweep from the floo network."  
  
"Should do that any time you're going to be doing randy business in here," Ron grumbled.  
  
"Merlin!" George sighed. "You've got your kinks, little Ronniekins who likes riding crops, so just give it a rest."  
  
"What?!" If Ron had been blushing before, now he was scarlet. "How long has Hermione been talking to you about our sex life?" Ron's eyes blazed.  
  
"It was knowledge accidentally acquired," Remus said in his most pacifying voice. "I can charm a quill to take notes if you and George won't stop with inside family jabs and goading each other. But I trust you'll rise to the occasion."  
  
Ron turned to look at George. "Right. One last question, since this all seems so bloody serious. Of anybody in our family, until you starting seeing him," he pointed at Remus, "you'd've been the last person I'd have thought to have to go through these odd curses and binding and now Remus seems to be trying to channel Snape from beyond the grave, and through you! George, why him?"  
  
George stood in shocked silence, slowly comprehending that Ron really hadn't expected his relationship with Remus to last, and how little Ron trusted the older man. He gathered his thoughts, feeling Remus' gaze on him.  
  
"Look, Ron," he said eventually. "I know you took Fred's death hard, and Bill's too, but you can't know what it's been like for me to lose Fred. Yes, Remus is older, but we're not as different as it seems to you. That Marauder's Map that he helped make was probably the most precious item in our lives for several years. If you'd bother to ask him, I'm sure Remus would tell you about some of the stuff he got up to in school. Far more outrageous than anything Fred and I ever dreamed of." He patted his chest above the location of his spiral scar. "I got the curse because I was being an idiot, and I'm just thankful to Hermione for being able to get rid of it. And I'm even more grateful that it bound me to Remus. I've been through a lot over the past few years, and Remus has been someone I knew I could count on. He's… well, he's a bloody fabulous kisser for starters, and he's even helped to come up with ideas at the shop and oh, hell, I'm not good at explaining things." George ran his fingers through his hair, uncomfortable under his brother's scrutiny, but wanting to express why he loved Remus without sounding completely stupid. "I can tell he's happy when I come into a room. He actually enjoys being in my company. Even I don't quite understand it, but he thinks I'm attractive, and he-"  
  
"I would never intentionally hurt George," Remus said quietly. "If anything, I'm overprotective. His acceptance and love of me is the most precious gift I've known in recent years, and I intend to do everything in my power to continue to be worthy of it, and worthy of his affections."  
  
Ron looked from Remus to George, who was clinging desperately to the thought of _'don't you dare cry in front of Ron'_ as he bit hard on the inside of his cheek. Hearing Remus state his commitment so plainly in front of Ron had made George suddenly tearful, much to his chagrin. Slowly Ron nodded his head, and George was more than a little surprised to see Ron rub at one of his eyes, a sure sign that he, too, was trying to keep his emotions in check.  
  
"This is probably hard for you to hear, but I do love your brother," Remus said. "I know I'm not who you would have picked for family."  
  
Ron cleared his throat. "No, it's good. If it had to be a bloke, anyway. You're as loyal as Jordan."  
  
"High praise indeed," Remus said, walking the few steps to Ron and gently squeezing his shoulder. "Thank you."  
  
Ron nodded with a slight jerking motion. "Just keep doing right by George and you're right by me. He and Fred may've been awful to me growing up, but I'm past all that."  
  
"Just wait'll you get a designer sexy whip for Christmas and you'll hate me all over again," George said, trying very hard to lighten the mood. He was determined not to fall apart; despite their several years together, George rarely cried in front of Remus, and he'd die first before doing so around Ron. He wouldn't be ashamed, necessarily, but he already felt vulnerable enough, and this bridge of truce between Ron and Remus was too new to be tested by George becoming a blubbering, grateful mess.  
  
"You wouldn't dare," Ron threatened, though a smile had snuck to the corners of his mouth. "I'd make sure to get you back; maybe sneak some porny poofter mag into your laundry that Mum'd find. She'd pitch an absolute fit."  
  
"You don't have the balls to buy one," George countered, smirking. "Bit hard to get dirty pictures if you couldn't even walk through the door of the shop."  
  
"I'll have you know there's one at my flat!" Ron said, a self-satisfied look of challenge in his expression.  
  
"Let me guess. Hermione's the one who bought it."  
  
Remus' face blossomed with a smile as Ron grudgingly admitted that to be the case.  
  
"She's amazingly open-minded, Hermione." Remus patted Ron on the back then stepped over to George. "Now that everything seems to be back to normal, I suggest that we get on with it. First though, George, I'm going to rub some salve on you." He leaned in and mouthed the words _'Trust me, a ghaoil'_ into George's lips before sealing the plea with a brief kiss which was over before George could even respond. George pressed his lips together, trying to taste the message left there.  
  
Ron began to look uncomfortable again, his focus on anything except the two men. "You're not going to tie him up again, are you?" he asked.  
  
"No, nothing like that." Remus retrieved a small tin from a velvet bag near the sofa, then waved George over. "This is a mixture of yew-sap paste and mothdust. It's both a memory enhancer and a calefacient."  
  
"Cale-what?" George questionned, following Remus who sat in the comfortable chair. George sank to a cushion and sat cross-legged, resting between Remus' legs.  
  
"A substance that, when applied to the skin, creates a warming sensation. There are varying theories, but I personally believe that magic works more effectively via a warm conduit than a cold one."  
  
"Hmmmm," George replied, eyes closing as Remus rubbed the woodsy smelling gel onto his temples, then long fingers applied it to his throat with special attention given to the hollow between his collarbones.  
  
"Tell me about the last field mission you and Severus went on," Remus said, his voice as tender as the hands now kneading into George's forehead.  
  
The images whirled clearly in George's memory.  
  
_"Weasley. We've got to leave. Immediately."  
  
Snape discharged the command from his bedroll where, with ruthless efficiency, he readied his travel arsenal.  
  
"Where're we going?" George began packing his small bag, suppressing his instinctual urge to look at MacLeod and share a look of mutual understanding of what it was like to be part of a three-person recon unit that included Severus Snape. Jon was dead, and now it was only George and Snape.  
  
"Isle of Lewis. They've left Malfoy's body."  
  
George gave Snape an incredulous stare. "They've what?"  
  
Snape glowered in response. "They've abandoned Malfoy. The younger. At the last meeting I had with Lucius and Voldemort they indicated that they thought Draco might be weakening and must be dealt with immediately. Apparently they decided to kill him, or the equivalent." Snape swung the pack over his shoulders and glared at George with his piercing black eyes. "Intelligence from this side noted a surge of magical activity in a remote section of beach in the __Outer Hebrides_ _. They are almost certain that it's Draco. You and I have the unpleasant task of retrieving him, or his body."  
  
George shoved his wand into a slender holster buckled at his waist, pulled on his bag and walked over to the tent flap where they would receive their Apparating coordinates. "Merlin," he said under his breath. "I get to rescue Malfoy with Snape. This is bollocks. Can't believe Fred's missing out on this. Fucking war."  
  
"I beg your pardon?" Snape's voice could have frozen a raging river.  
  
"Nothing. Let's go."  
  
They were assaulted by wind and driving rain as soon as they manifested on the beach. The ocean slapped agsint the sand, waves frothy and roiling. True to the information given, Draco Malfoy lay naked near the water, wrists and ankles bound. George paced over to him, head bowed against the relentless elements.  
  
"Fucking Merlin!" he yelled after lowering his ear over Malfoy's mouth. "He's alive, Snape. Pixie's piss. What do we do now?"  
  
Snape collapsed to his knees and drew out his wand, running it above the prone figure as he muttered to himself. "Exposure," he spat. "Open his mouth. Make sure he's not drowning in his own blood."  
  
George obliged, prying open Draco's clenched jaws with his fingers. The front teeth were loose, and cracked, but otherwise his mouth cavity was empty. "We've got to get him back," George shouted over the sound of crashing surf. "I'll carry him. Are we cleared to Apparate to base?"  
  
"No!" Snape snarled. "Malfoy was left here for dead. We can't just go traipsing back to our tidy bit of order with the son of the highest-ranking Death Eater. We'll have to go somewhere else. Nearby, but not traceable. We'll need to clear a trail. Do you know the tri-phase co-ordinates?"  
  
George nodded, cradling his right arm under Draco's back, attempting to hold up the dangerously bobbing head. With his left arm, he scooped sand and Draco's backside up from the ground. Once in his arms, the slight figure dropped, so George clapsed the back of Malfoy's knees and clutched at Malfoy's heavy white-haired head. _ "Bloody hell," _he thought, willing the locations in his mind as his fingers grasped at clammy, cold skin._ "I wonder what they've done to him?" _  
  
He'd always hated Malfoy after the incident at the Quidditch match that had gotten he and Fred banned from the Gryffindor team, and Fred's death at the hands of Death Eaters certainly didn't improve things. But this was war, which turned alliances and relationships inside-out, and telling the difference between one's true friends and enemies sometimes seemed as reliable as reading tea leaves.  
  
"Are you ready?" Snape bellowed above the cacophany, the words whipping into George's ears before being whisked down the strand.  
  
"Yes!" George adjusted Malfoy in his arms. Before he Apparated to the first of the three locations, for a split second he wished he had a blanket to drape on the man in his arms, then he focused on their first locale.  
  
  
***  
  
  
After the volume at the beachhead, their first point was eerily quiet, though not for long. Another recon group jumped out, wands aimed straight at Snape's and George's hearts.  
  
"Oh fuck," one of them swore as he saw Malfoy's body held to George's chest.  
  
"No shite. Still alive. You take him," George added with a bit of distaste. "We're probably being traced."  
  
"Take Malfoy to the old Headquarters and for Merlin's sake, be gentle!" Snape seethed as George awkwardly began to hand off the man. "If we are at all lucky, though that has yet to be the case in this miserable war, he'll still be sane and we can question him. But not if you kill him first, you inept, hebetudinous oaf."  
  
"Go to hell," George said once Malfoy was carried away, his voice cracking with anger that sought for the tiniest release so it could burst out of him. He wasn't as tall as Snape, but his shoulders were wider and he rammed one into Snape's chest as he stormed past him to their Apparating point. "Just fucking go to hell, you pompous, self-serving nightmare."  
  
Snape rubbed at his collarbone as he took his spot next to George, the grimmest sliver of a smile on his lips. "Weasley," he crooned, pocketing his wand. "I'd no idea you knew me so well."_  
  
  
***  
  
  
"We had been traced," George said, lying on his back in front of the warm fire at the Cleansweep, Remus massaging his skull. "When we got to the second location it wasn't our people there, and they were on us before we even knew what was happening. Instinct kicked in and I will say that though Snape was a bastard, he was also brutal. And quick. He killed two of them in the time it took me to figure out what was going on, but once I did we made a pretty decent team. Hadn't realised how much fighting I had done next to him, but I sortof knew how to predict what he would do and could focus on protecting his back."  
  
"Is that all you remember?" Remus asked, his fingers smoothing out the skin above George's eyebrows.  
  
"That's it for details," George sighed. "There was a blur of hexes and spells, and I thought we'd taken care of the lot but then I took a curse in the back and I couldn't breathe. I remembered hitting the ground and figured I'd be dead in a minute, but then I heard Snape screaming something and then he'd fallen next to me and was grabbing at my chest. The next thing I knew I was at our camp's infirmary and Snape was in the morgue." He looked up at Remus' subdued face. "Sorry I'm not more help."  
  
"It's okay," Remus said. "Ron, would you go into the kitchen and get the ceramic bowl off of the counter?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
"George, I'm going to say a spell that will make your magical energies visible, at least for a little while."  
  
"You sound like a healer," George said contentedly.  
  
"He sounds like a professor," Ron said from the kitchen doorframe.  
  
"I need you both to be quiet," Remus admonished, taking out his wand.  
  
It wasn't a spell that George had heard before, but he had long ago realised that Remus' knowledge of magic and its powers and manipulations far outstripped his own. Remus murmured some unfamiliar words over him, and as George cracked open an eye, he saw Remus running his hands just above his clothes, as though smoothing the way for his wand.  
  
"That's wicked!" Ron said appreciatively as he sat down on the couch. "Can you see it, George?"  
  
"See what?"  
  
"You've got a light, kindof, around you."  
  
"Really?" George picked his head up from the floor and looked down his torso to his feet where Remus sat, pensive. "I don't see anything."  
  
"Most wizards can't see their own magic," Remus replied. He pointed his wand at George's chest. _"Illuminous."_  
  
"Bloody hell!" Ron stared at George. "There's a line of the stuff going from your chest over to Lupin. What's that all about?"  
  
"It's George's binding," Remus replied. "The magic used was strong, so it's much more visible than some others. I was curious to see how it would manifest itself."  
  
George got up on his elbow and gazed into the air above his body. "I still don't see anything."  
  
"You won't. Now lie back down. I want to check another spot more closely."  
  
George obliged, relaxing into the floor.  
  
_"Revelatorium."_  
  
George's eyes were closed, sensing the crackle of energy as Remus' wand circled over his upper body, then hovered over his left temple. He felt an odd tugging, and raised his dominant hand to brush away at the sensations there.  
  
"George. Please leave it be. Just for a moment."  
  
George obliged, grinding his teeth together slightly as he lowered his arm and heard Ron say in an apprehensive voice, "What is that?"  
  
Even though he had been told not to, George couldn't help it and he ran the back of his knuckles against the side of his head.  
  
"I'm almost completely sure that they're Snape's memories, entrusted to George, though Severus didn't ask, and George wouldn't have known what was happening. Snape was a desperate, dying man. And then he cleared away the memory of it ever happening. That's what I don't understand."  
  
With a grimace, George took the pads of his fingers and rubbed the skin on his skull, trying to rub out anything, memories or otherwise, that had anything to do whatsoever with the bitter hook-nosed man. "I don't understand," he sulked. "I wear black, and you say it's Snape. I drink scotch, thanks to Ron's time in Glasgow, and you say it's Snape."  
  
Ron toasted him with an imaginary glass from the couch.  
  
"He was a brilliant master of potions, somebody you'd want at your back in a fight, but Merlin, he was a cutting, snide arsehole. No offense, of course," George continued, willing the words toward Remus, "but your taste has improved." George quailed in the ensuing silence, Remus' intent gaze splicing open George's reserve.  
  
"What'd'you mean by that?" Ron asked, rubbing his own forehead. "On second thought, I don't want to know." He rested less comfortably against the couch.  
  
"I'm sure that some of the stories I could tell would turn even your red hair white in shock," Remus deadpanned. "But they'd probably also turn your stomach. Do you mind handing over the bowl?"  
  
Ron shook his head as he gave the large piece of china to Remus. The basin was placed carefully on the floor near George's head. "I've charmed this to act like a large pensieve. George, if you'll allow me, I want to retrieve all of your memories and distill them a bit. If Severus' are there, I can draw them out and then give you yours back."  
  
A flash of panic coursed through George. "I'd trust you with anything, you know that." He rested his hand on Remus' knee. "But Merlin, be quick about it, if you can. The idea of having, well, me in a bowl that could be broken or the wind could blow too strongly or the spell could go wrong, or-"  
  
"I'll be as quick as I can, and Ron is here too."  
  
"Why am I here, exactly?" Ron asked a bit peevishly.  
  
"To write down any messages that we see. I closed off the Cleansweep because this particular spell while not an Unforgivable, is illegal. I'd prefer not to have to defend myself in front of the Wizarding Council. But you're here. You know I'm not doing this to harm George, I'm doing it to liberate Severus' thoughts from him. Though quite honestly I'm not sure how I'll explain being in possession of his memories. I'm sure they are incredibly valuable."  
  
Ron looked skeptical. "Valuable."  
  
"Since you are fortunate enough not to suffer from lycanthropy you probably don't appreciate the wealth of information to do with wolfsbane that Severus' memories would contain. Much less any other potions he was working on before that one cabinet of his notes was bombed."  
  
"Okay. Point taken." He said, resigned, and settled back, putting his foot on his knee.  
  
"Go ahead, Remus," George said quietly. "Just put them all back, even the bad ones. Promise?"  
  
Remus nodded. "I would say 'I solemnly swear,' but I think that would make all of us nervous."  
  
A small huff of a laugh escaped from George. "I especially want to remember when I found out you'd made that map, so be careful."  
  
"I will."  
  
George gazed up at Remus' familiar face, drinking in the security of his lover's unflinching gaze. As George closed his eyes, a solitary word reverberated through his mind.  
  
_"Mandatum."_  
  
  
***  
  
  
_Consciousness seeped into his agony filled brain. Every cell in his body was ringing with adrenaline soaked fear, demanding that he get up, get up, get up. Despite the desperate admonitions, the only muscles willing to respond were his eyelids, and the effort involved in forcing them to open was almost his undoing.  
  
Severus opened his eyes to a sea of freckles. He quickly shut them as a wave of tortuous pain wracked his body. Helpless, he experienced a seizure which, as a side effect, rolled him off of George Weasley. He panted for a while after it passed, knowing with grim surety that he was going to die, and soon. "Fucking war," he rasped and heard a low moan from the prone form near him.  
  
If he'd had any spare energy, Severus would have rolled his eyes. _ Merlin, _he thought._ Weasley had to go and live on me. _Now he had to figure out how to Apparate both of them. Slowly, the most logical plan of action manifested itself. It was, therefore, the solution that would churn his self-preservation instincts into a paroxysm of denial. He forced himself to try and see if he had the use of his arms. His muscles screamed with the effort, but dutifully obeyed his command to make two fists, a process by which Severus gratefully discovered he did still have his wand in his right hand. Now all he had to do was discover if it was broken.  
  
Through a series of equally wretched and anguished tasks, Severus managed to manoeuver himself over to Weasley, with his wand at the younger man's head. Memory modification beyond the Obliviate spell was tricky business at the best of times, much less after fighting what was to be one's final skirmish with eight Death Eaters, but he had to make it work. He used what amounted to a partitioning of his mind, a skill well-honed by time serving both Voldemort and the Order. It wasn't so much that he would mind vanishing entirely from the world, and Merlin knew that there would be no wailing at any memorial held for him, but even as he was dying, his pride manifested itself to a degree. He would never know if Weasley would survive, and if he did, if anyone would discover the memories Severus had entrusted to him. He knew it would be highly ironic for him to go to this trouble to save the red haired future breeder and his life's work to remain undiscovered.  
  
Then again, Severus found all of life ironic.  
  
He channelled all of his remaining magical energies to the forefront of any other demands his body was making of him. On a profound level, Severus could feel the dimness of death encroaching, and one by one, he forced out the spells.  
  
_ Mandatum. _  
  
_ Obliviate. _Modified for just these last moments, in case Weasley had been semi-conscious.  
  
_ Apparate.  
  
  
***  
  
  
George's world was upside-down, literally and figuratively as he hung by knees in one of the trees in the nearby orchard to Remus' house. Remus had restored his memories and while George had felt rather discombobulated by the whole process, he didn't think he'd suffered any other ill effects from the _Mantadum_ spell until he found out that Snape had saved him.  
  
The whole evening had been uncomfortably emotional, so he'd begged off from Remus and Ron at the Cleansweep and Apparated to the grounds by Remus' secluded home. The moon was waxing, but full enough that George could see as he wandered among the gnarled trunks. In a fit of willful childishness, he climbed one of the trees and then decided to dangle from one of the branches. 'My little monkeys,' his mother had affectionately called them when they were younger, he and Fred.  
  
"George?"  
  
The voice in this setting was unexpected. So much so that George's recently-plundered mind had trouble placing it as he scanned his inverted night world, twisting his body corkscrew-like before reaching his hands up beside his knees. He dropped to the ground, pulling his pretzeled body through his arms, then righted himself, crashing back into the branch he'd just been hanging from.  
  
"That hurt," he whimpered, rubbing his now-throbbing head. "Dad?"  
  
"George! Remus said I might find you here."  
  
George watched his father approach through the rows of trees. "I'm here. What're you doing?"  
  
"Oh! Just checking in." His father's kind but worried face fully materialized in the shadowed orchard. "Seems you'd had a bit of a shock."  
  
"That's a nice way of putting it," George grumbled. "It's not enough to find out I've been functioning like some pensieve for Snape, but that he basically, well, sacrificed himself? I couldn't stand him! Makes my stomach churn." He gave his father a hard look. "Wait a minute. How'd you know about it? Remus said what he did was illegal. It hardly makes sense to tell you, being in the Ministry and all."  
  
"Well, casting a _Mandatum_ spell without the permission of the other wizard is illegal, but I think that, all things considered, what Remus did is within the bounds of wizarding law."  
  
"Still. Why would you need to know?" They took a path between the rows of apple trees, slowly meandering toward the house. "I'm an adult. And handfasted, for goodness' sake."  
  
"That's all very true, but I'm still your father, and I still worry."  
  
"He's not going to harm me, dad. Ever."  
  
"He's still a werewolf, George."  
  
"I'm bound to him."  
  
"I know."  
  
There didn't seem to be a whole lot to say after that, so George and his father ambled along the dirt row, leisurely nearing the front porch cast in the cheery light.  
  
"Was there something I did wrong, somewhere?" Arthur blustered, rounding on George. "I thought you'd fancied girls in school."  
  
George stood, exhausted and indignant. "I did, dad. It just didn't work out. I like men. Well, I've liked only a few. And I love one. But it does mean there won't be any little anklebiters running around our house." He stared down at his boots. "Look," he began, then raised his gaze to look at his father. "If you want thoughtful, and sensitive, you need to talk to Charlie, or Ginny." He shook his head. "Maybe even Percy. Selkies save you if you're desperate enough to consult Ron. I'm not your bloke. I'm just your one jokeshop-owning, twin-missing, shirtlifting son. If that's not enough, just go."  
  
He ground his heel into a moonlit shadow, turned and headed to the house. Several satisfying gravel-crunching footsteps passed before his father's voice caught him.  
  
"I'm trying, you know."  
  
George stopped. "Not hard enough," he said, wheeling around. "Even Ron respects him now. But take your time. War's over. We've nothing but time." He tasted the bitterness of the words and swallowed, taking off again for the lights on the porch. "Well, I do," he mumbled. "Bugger, but I wish Fred were here."  
  
"George!"  
  
George stopped again, his left foot on the bottom step.  
  
"Have I ever told you how proud I am of you?"  
  
"Not in so many words, dad. I'm going to think you've been possessed if you keep this up."  
  
The screen door opened and warming light poured out onto the stairs. George looked up to see Remus standing invitingly in the doorway.  
  
"Arthur! Wonderful to see you." Remus' voice carried into the still night, hospitality and homecoming infused in each syllable. George had never heard anything so welcoming in his life.  
  
"Remus. Lovely grounds you have."  
  
"Oh, they aren't mine. But my family has had this property as long as the neighbours. They don't mind if, on occasion, people wander through the orchard, especially this time of year. Quite honestly I think they've gone to Majorca. It's where they winter."  
  
"They sound like birds," George said, briefly wrapping his arm around Remus' waist and leaning his head against his partner's neck. George closed his eyes, breathing in Remus' soothing, musky scent. It was ridiculous, but George was easily undone by smelling Remus. The potent combination of latent power, bitter bloodbinding and tangy possession always manifested itself in an unfortunate ache in his groin. "Mind if I go inside?"  
  
"Not at all. Is it all right with you if I stay out with your father for a bit?"  
  
"No." George grudgingly loosed himself. "How long have you been listening?"  
  
"I haven't."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Arthur, could I have a word?"  
  
George heard his father acquiesce pleasantly to the request, then there was a quietly rumbled _incendio_ as Remus lit a fire in the stove. The door shut behind him. He went to the kitchen, poured himself a drink, cast a chilling charm on it, and walked to their bedroom. After placing the glass on the bedside table, he plopped down on the bed, stretching out from boot-clad toes to his fingers, which scraped comfortingly against the wooden headboard. Moments later, George draped an arm over his face. "Really would just like to be shagged senseless right now," he muttered into his elbow. "'S'all I'm good for."  
  
After a few minutes he sat up, took a sip, and with his wand shut the door. Remus and his father notwithstanding, he could always take matters into his own hands.  
  
Then again, he could wait. It was always worth it.  
  
  
***  
  
  
George woke up when Remus climbed into bed next to him.  
  
"Remus," he said through a yawn. "How long have I been asleep?"  
  
"About an hour," Remus said, stretching his long legs alongside George's.  
  
"Oh." George rubbed his eyes. The room was dark, and a small fire burned in the fireplace. "What were you and Dad talking about?"  
  
"We'll discuss it in the morning," Remus said gently, placing the palm of his hand in the middle of George's chest and fingering his swath of hair.  
  
With a start George noticed he was under the covers, and he was -  
  
"I'm naked, aren't I?"  
  
The warm hand slowly traced down his abdomen, then fanned out to disentangle the wiry hair at his groin.  
  
"Well, unless I did my spell incorrectly and you're still in shoes and socks, you don't appear to be wearing any clothes," Remus said, his voice low in George's ear. "Do you mind? You didn't look terribly comfortable on the bed, fully dressed," Remus continued, allowing his fingers to travel further down, stroking the inside of George's thighs.  
  
"Mind?" George said. "Don't reckon, especially if you're doing things like that."  
  
"I should let you sleep," Remus apologised, drawing his hand away from George's cock, which had just started to respond to the attention it was getting. "You've had a long evening."  
  
"And I will sleep," George replied, turning on his side to face his bondmate. "But I guarantee I'll sleep better if you go back to doing what you were doing." He leaned in to take a deep breath near Remus' collarbone, then kissed the faded tattoo of the werewolf registry numbers he knew were there.  
  
"Come up here, you," Remus growled, pulling George to him and claiming his mouth with a passionate kiss. "I'm going to satisfy you so that you'll be able to sleep until next week," he said, breathing hotly into George's ear. It was one of George's many erogenous spots, and he found he was quickly becoming aroused.  
  
"Merlin, yes," George gasped as their legs intertwined, hands on each other's cocks. George wanted to get out of his head, and Remus knew effectively and intimately how to do that. He let Remus dominate, writhing languorously under the exquisite friction of his lover's body. Remus tortured his imagination, his husky voice never leaving his ear, telling him what he was going to do in the most explicit terms imaginable. After a while George was no longer George; he was merely one slick, throbbing ache, expertly stroked and kneaded and suckled until he was almost begging for release. Remus came back up to his ear.  
  
"You remember our first time?" he asked, and George panted in the affirmative. "I'm going to take you that way now," he said, the words drenched in desire. A few moments later George let out a panted sob as Remus eased into him, then began slow thrusts. "Love being inside you, feeling you so tight around me," he murmured. "My fiery lover. Mine." George arched back, wanting to feel Remus far within him, long-unshed tears dripping down his cheeks. "Bound to me," Remus said, enfolding George's cock with an oiled hand.  
  
"Remus, god, love you so fucking much," George choked out, then he was engulfed in a pulsing universe of pleasure, tiny stars dancing behind his clenched eyes as he heard Remus chant George's name over and over. George grasped the headboard with his hands until the waves of release had emptied from him. He felt almost dizzy as Remus kissed his way up George's vertebrae while he gently uncoupled them.  
  
George covertly wiped the tears from his cheeks as they lay down. Remus leaned over to retrieve his wand but George stopped him. "Let's just use a cloth, if you don't mind."  
  
"Good sex smell?" Remus chuckled as he did get his wand to accio a washcloth from the bathroom.  
  
"Mind-blowing sex smell," George said, his head still turned. He was a bit embarrassed at wiping his arse, but it was worth it to keep the musky scent in the air. "Never-had-sex-like-that-before smell."  
  
"Never? I think I should be insulted."  
  
They lay quietly for a few minutes, letting their bodies cool down a bit before getting ensconced in the sheets again.  
  
"You're amazing," George said finally.  
  
"And you're my love."  
  
George fell back asleep contentedly inhaling Remuscent, his head nestled on Remus' bony shoulder.  
  
  
***  
  
  
When George woke up the next day, weak light shone through the windows. He was alone in the bed, and the room smelled of tea. Confused, he sat up and saw there was a small table near the bed with a teapot that had obviously been tapped with a heating charm, a cup, and a note.

_Dear George,  
  
Since I wasn't sure how long you would need to sleep to recover both from the Mandatum spell and our, as you put it, mind-blowing experience last night, I didn't wake you. I've gone to Hogwarts to take Severus' memories to Dumbledore. He'll know best what should be done with them, and he'll also be trustworthy in regards to how I came to have them in my possession. I'll probably mark some essays at my office for a bit, have a cup of tea with Flitwick (the poor man has really suffered since his wife died) and be home for dinner. There's tea for you- just take it easy today.  
  
Yours,  
  
R.L.  
p.s. There's a stack of letters on the dining room table that I think you'll find very interesting._

  
  
George yawned, stretched until his back cracked, then reluctantly got out of the warm bed to go to the bathroom to clean up. After a while he sat at the dining room table in stunned silence, the tea at his elbow growing cold as he read letter after letter written by his father. Remus had left another note next to the stack.

_Arthur gave me these last night. It seems that he's been writing letters to you and your siblings over the years. He intended for you to have them when he died, but after I told him that I planned to perform a Mandatum on you, he got yours together just in case something went wrong. I haven't read them, of course- they are private correspondence from father to son.  
  
By the way, after our conversation last night I think he has a better appreciation of our relationship.  
  
R.L._

  
  
The letters began with one to he and Fred.

Dear Fred and George-  
  
Well, what a surprise. Two of you were born today! Two more boys. Your mother and I are so pleased. Her reasons are different than mine, though. I'm almost sure she's happiest because we won't need to get new clothes. I'm happiest because you've arrived safe and sound, and we're five-sevenths the way to having our own Weasley Quidditch team!  
  
Love,  
your dad

  
  
They continued on much in the same way over time at major events: first teeth, first spells cast, their first tricks and punishments. The day they got their Hogwarts letters. One written at St. Mungo's when they were around fourteen, when they'd spent a tense night because Percy had come down with a sudden and potentially fatal case of bloodcurdle.

Dear Fred and George-  
  
I know Percy isn't your favourite brother, and that you'd rather be at home right now. But I want to thank you for keeping your mother occupied, and even laughing on occasion so she doesn't fret while the healers do what they can. You two have a rare gift in that regard.

  
  
A letter of praise after they passed their O.W.L.s. A letter of disapproval about how they were treating Ron and Percy. A letter of incredulity when he'd stumbled across them at Gringott's, having signed a lease for what would become Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. A letter of heartbreak written the day of Fred's funeral. A letter of intense gratitude when George survived his last mission in the War. A letter of perplexed support at his handfasting to Lupin.  
  
On and on they went, dozens in all. The most recent had been hastily written on the back of a tea-stained page of shopping list parchment, dated yesterday.

Dear George,  
  
Lupin has just told me he intends to take your memories and distill them because he has some rather far-fetched theory to do with Snape. I'm not at all pleased, but I trust if you're at all uncertain, you won't go through with it. It's a complicated spell, not to mention illegal in almost all cases, and while I do trust him, messing with memory makes me nervous. I've already lost one of my beloved, though never trouble-free twins, and I would hate to lose the other due to meddling with his mind. If that happens, and you have to start over, these will give you a glimpse of what your life was like.  
  
Know that I've always been proud of all you and Fred accomplished, and I probably should have told you more often. I'll try to be better about that in the future.  
  
Love,  
your dad

  
  
  
***  
  
  
There seemed only one appropriate thing to do- he needed to write his father back. But what on Merlin's green earth could he say? George puzzled through several long replies that afternoon as he made his way to Hogwarts, deciding to use one of the school's owls since he and Remus didn't keep one of their own.  
  
He went to Remus' office first to see if he was there, but after getting through the warded door, he discovered the room was empty. _Must be with Flitwick,_ he mused, glancing at the almost-toppling stack of books and journals piled crazily on Remus' desk. The newest edition of the Anglo-Saxon Wizarding Association's publication was on top with a picture of Lupin smiling and receiving an award for his work on the _solaris_ spell. He was gesturing to George, who had gotten flustered and begged off, letting Remus accept the plaque and give a brief speech.  
  
Next to his academic texts there was a small book of poetry. George picked it up and flipped through it, figuring that W. H. Auden must be a Muggle writer as he'd never heard of him or her and he couldn't really understand the poems. The phrase "we till shadowed days are done" caught his eye, and he thought about the many dark days and nights he'd gone through since Fred had been killed. "I do kinda like the phrase, though," he said to himself, "and being Remus' 'till shadowed days are done.'" He rolled his eyes. "Bollocks," he moaned, putting the book back on the desk. "I'm turning into a bloody sentimental poof."  
  
Inspiration about writing his father finally struck. He opened a desk drawer in which he was pretty sure Remus kept parchment, found a piece of blank scroll, and took out the re-inking quill he usually carried.

_Dear Dad,  
  
I'm proud of you, too.  
Fred and I caused you a lot of grief, but we've always been grateful you were our dad. There's none better.  
  
Love,  
George_

  
  
Satisfied, he rolled it up and stuck it in a pocket of his robes. He was about to leave and head to the owlery when a glass container filled with sinuously swirling silver caught his eye. Instinctively George knew what it was: Snape's memories. He stared at the container for a minute, both fascinated and repulsed. They were the memories Snape valued so much that he'd infused them into George. Remus had told him what it was like to be caught up in someone else's captured thoughts, and a niggling idea that he could pick a couple to look at drifted through his mind.  
  
It would be invasive, but the man was dead. And hell, the last memory would have himself in it anyway. It would be pretty morbid, but if he could figure out how to take just a particular strand, George could see what happened after that last skirmish. He could also find the year Remus had taught and see if Snape had cared enough about Remus to save a memory of one of their interludes… George shuddered and his stomach lurched. Snape and Remus had only been using each other. Remus had sworn it was simply convenient sex, nothing more. The perverse idea refused to leave, though, as George continued to stand, mesmerized by the seething patterns in the glass.  
  
He waited for Remus to return, to tell him not to do it. A few more minutes passed. "This is wrong. This is so wrong," he muttered, but insatiable curiosity had overridden his moral qualms and he raised his wand to tap at the container. _What's Snape going to do, haunt me?_ he thought. Being haunted by Snape for the rest of his life was an exceedingly unpleasant concept. And yet- he had been unwittingly carrying the memories around for a few years anyway.  
  
George wracked his brain for the correct spell to discern which memories were which, then pointed his wand and incanted the command. Transfixed, George regarded the years of visions, and found a time toward the end that pulsed with flickered brightness. Going on instinct, he closed his eyes, held his breath, and stuck in his finger.  
  
The sensation of being pulled into the thoughts wasn't unlike using a portkey. George found himself standing across a potions bench from Snape, and the sudden proximity was so unnerving that he backed away, tripping over his own feet. Snape, of course, didn't react, since George wasn't really there, and continued his methodic, counterclockwise stirring, counting under his breath. He stopped, leaned over the cauldron, and after taking a deep whiff, nodded sagely and blew out the blue flame flickering underneath. With surprisingly elegant motions, Snape ladled some of the potion into a chalice located nearby, then paused. George stared, wondering what was so spectacular about this particular potion that the making of it seemed worthy of saving as a memory. The potions master placed his hands on the bench and his shoulders sagged as he leaned on the wood. George saw a look cross the other man's face that he had never seen in all the years he had known him; Snape's face was unguarded and weary, and he appeared to be struggling over something in his mind.  
  
After a few moments, Snape came to a resolution, and with the efficiency of movement that George knew so well from their time in their reconnaissance unit, he strode across the room to a cabinet, brushing so close to George that he could have sworn he felt Snape's robe as he passed. With a practiced wrist flick, the cabinet opened and Snape sent in his pale, bony hand to retrieve a bottle on a back shelf. The doors were shut, the vial dropped into a hidden robe pocket, and the cup snatched from the board. George was practically running to follow the potions master out of his office, realisation dawning on him. Snape was taking the Wolfsbane to Remus, and some other potion. Had Snape poisoned Remus at some point?  
  
Fury began to build in George's chest as he hurried behind the tall man's billowing robes. The route was familiar, of course, but why wasn't Snape heading for Remus' office? Of course- Remus was Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, not History. A few corridors further and Snape stopped in front of an oak door, raising his hand to knock. Again he waited, indecision in his gesture, but then he rapped soundly on the wood.  
  
"Door's open!" Remus' familiar voice rang out.  
  
Snape opened the door and walked resolutely through, George close behind.  
  
Remus was sitting at a desk, wearing a threadbare dressing gown of sorts, and surrounded in a cloud of smoke. He smiled at Snape's entrance, but Snape only scowled.  
  
"You're getting a bit brazen with your smoking, Lupin. What if it hadn't been me?"  
  
"We're practically the only people left at Hogwarts." A sad smile formed on Remus' lips. "Even Dumbledore would probably forgive an indulgence at Christmas."  
  
Snape's mouth turned down even more, then he sighed, placing the smoking chalice on the desk. Remus looked expectantly at him and Snape pulled the small vial from his pocket, setting it gently next to the cup. Remus' smile turned hungry.  
  
"Opium is addictive, you know that, Lupin."  
  
George looked incredulously at the scene unfolding in front of him. Remus had gotten up from his desk and rounded on Snape, running his hands through the limp black hair.  
  
"Many things are addictive, Snape," Remus said in a low voice, causing Snape to close his eyes and lean his head to the side, exposing a long swath of pale skin. Remus' hands trailed down Snape's back until they came to his arse, at which point George watched, sickened, as the long fingers began caressing Snape through his robes.  
  
_Oh Merlin,_ George thought. _Bloody bollocky hell. And I don't know how to get out of a memory._ He shouldn't have done this. It was his punishment for not just leaving the memories alone. _Why, George, you fucking jealous idiot? Why didn't you just walk away?_  
  
It was torture, seeing Remus, his Remus, undressing Snape. George retreated to a corner, trapped. He closed his eyes and covered his ears, only peeking occasionally to see if they were through yet, because they didn't speak to each other; there were only soft grunts and the unmistakable smell of sex.  
  
Eventually George thought he heard the sweet sound of someone putting his clothes back on and he uncovered his eyes. The potions master was nearly dressed, but Remus merely sprawled naked on a couch. George bit down on his lip until he drew blood. When would this memory ever be over?  
  
Snape arranged his robes into their usual meticulous order, stoppered the vial and sequestered it away again in some hidden pocket. He turned to leave the room.  
  
"Happy Christmas," Remus said softly from the couch, looking all too sated to George's liking.  
  
Snape didn't reply until he reached the door at which point he turned and gave Remus a curt nod. "Good evening, Lupin." He swept out the door and George felt the power of the memory pulling him along, though he stole a last quick glance at Remus, his then-less-grey hair matted to his forehead with sweat. Remus seemed to be thinking about something else, his gaze focused on a far wall.  
  
George trailed behind Snape who was apparently returning to his office. _Wanker. Worse than the worst voyeur,_ he chastised himself. _How are you ever going tell Remus you did this? What if he's back in his office when you're finally released from this self-inflicted nightmare?_  
  
Soon they were back in the potion master's office. Snape cast a locking charm on the door and leaned his back up against it, ensuring that if a stampede of anything came through, he would be squashed in the process. Both repulsed and intrigued, from a few steps away George watched the beak-nosed man undo a few of the top buttons on his robe and sniff at the inside, Snape's eyelids lowering as he inhaled deeply. After Snape's chest rose and fell twice, his eyes flashed open and he assumed his usual stony expression, walking to his desk where he fluffed his robes behind him before sitting straight-backed in his chair. Moments later he was writing on a piece of parchment.  
  
George walked and stood behind Snape so he could read over the potions master's shoulder, deciding that he was too far into it already not to read Snape's private correspondence. George's mind had turned to porridge, and his damn curiosity was still running wild.

_Lupin,  
This must stop. Not because I wish it, for being with you reminds me that I have, contrary to all rumour, a heart. I am not allowed to become fond of you. I shall not bring my vial again.  
  
S.S._

  
  
Despite it being a memory, George was dumbfounded. Snape had actually cared for Remus? Inconceivable.  
  
Parchment in hand, Snape pushed himself back from the desk and walked to an empty part of the potions classroom. With snail's speed, he pulled the small glass bottle from within the folds of his robes, looked carefully at it, and released his grip. It shattered on the floor, the viscous liquid making a small pool at his feet. Snape raised his gaze to the scroll grasped in his left hand, looking for all the world as though his black eyes could bore holes through it. George was astounded when, seconds later, the paper burst into flame at the corner. The potions master watched blandly as the flames licked down the page, gaining speed as more and more of the parchment was consumed. Just before it would have singed his fingers, Snape dropped the paper into the puddle at his feet, at which point the yellow flames turned to a vibrant green as the liquid caught fire. Snape and George stood transfixed, caught up in the dancing verdant flickering light.  
  
It was quite a shock when George blinked twice because the flames had changed colour. He was standing in front of Remus' fireplace, in his current office. _Merlin's beard._ The memory was over. The room was still empty. Feeling completely out of sorts, he glanced at the clock on Remus' wall and saw that according to that timepiece, he hadn't been gone at all. A shiver coursed up his spine.  
  
He left the office as quickly as possible, thankful that his feet knew where he needed to go even if his brain didn't. At the owlery, he stood confusedly for a moment, then remembered why he had gone to Hogwarts in the first place. He patted himself down, found the short letter to his father, and attached it to one of the school owls. After watching the tawny bird until it was a speck vanishing into the dense clouds, he turned and walked slowly down the steps until an idea formed in his mind. His pace quickened until he was practically racing through the stone corridors in as dignified a way as possible.  
  
Using the hidden paths of Hogwarts that he knew so well, he covertly made his way to the Greenhouses, thankful that there were no students or professors around. When he was in school there had been a section of rather pedestrian Muggle plants that had been cultivated for lovesick students deciding that they wanted an authentic rose or daisy, but George was almost certain that another particular plant was also grown for two unique individuals. He paced down the steamy aisles twice before finding the lilac flowerets that he sought. He took a last, quick survey of the empty room before pulling out his wand and making a searing cut across the lower part of a stem. Clutching the stalk to his chest, he repocketed his wand and exited the glass room.  
  
Years of doing mischief in school combined with his wartime subterfuge knowledge allowed George to reach the Hogwarts cemetary without being seen. He tread carefully through the stones, still uncomfortable despite the many all-too-familiar names on many of them. He'd been half drunk the last time he was here, and wasn't sure that he could find the marker he was looking for, but thankfully there weren't so many granite slabs as to be unmanageable.  
  
George appraised the stone marker, the onyx giving off a sheen despite the grey rush overhead of rushing stormclouds. Twelve letters carved in plain block print dominated the otherwise blank surface. He took a hasty survey of the nearby memorials; almost all had flowers or other tokens of affection. Snape's, while tidily kept, was absent any evidence that anyone came to visit. George reached out his hand to touch it, but felt irrationally that the marker, like the man, would somehow react in a hostile manner to unasked-for attentions.  
  
"Thank you for saving my life," George began. "Oh, this is stupid. Can't believe I've sunk so low as to be talking to Snape's tombstone."  
  
He scratched behind his ear, looking at the empty space around the foot of the monument. Raising his gaze back to the words SEVERUS SNAPE, which seemed to be accusatory by their very chiseled permanence, he blurted out, "Okay. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry to have gone into your memories. But shite, you gave them to me anyway. I just didn't know you actually cared about Remus, once."  
  
His tirade came to a screeching halt and he shifted his weight from foot to foot.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
He crouched at the base of the memorial, took the stem of lupine and placed it a bit apprehensively on the ground. There was no rush of ghosts, or chilled wind, so he felt that his gesture had been accepted. He stood up quickly and got out of the cemetery as fast as he could.  
  
George needed to talk to someone as soon as possible; someone who wouldn't judge him, at least not too much. A person who knew him as well as himself. He surreptitiously made his way to his office, and went straight to his fireplace. He threw in some floo powder as he panted, "The Cleansweep." Moments later he was in the haven of his flat. He brushed himself off and walked quickly to his room, desperate to see his brother.  
  
"Fred!" he yelled. "Merlin, I am such an idiot. You won't believe what I did. I went into Snape's…" his voice died down as he saw Fred and Percy in the frame, consulting with each other. "Oh. Hi, Perce. Um, d'you mind? I'd like to talk to Fred alone."  
  
Percy looked remorsefully at him. He seemed more solid, somehow, but that didn't make sense. Unless…  
  
"George, gotta tell you something," Fred said, unusually somber.  
  
George heard his name being shouted from the fireplace. He wasn't sure who it was, but it sounded an awful lot like Ron.  
  
"I think I already know," he said, unable to meet his brother's eyes as he sank down on the bed.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
**Epilogue**  
  
  
*****  
  
  
"Arthur. Are you absolutely sure? You've been such a boon to the department, and to the Ministry as a whole."  
  
George watched his father nod deliberately. It seemed odd that there would be ceremonies for leaving an institution, but there he and Remus were, attending his father's resignation from the Ministry of Magic.  
  
"Arthur Weasley, your decision to resign from the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office is accepted with regret by the Ministry on this day, November 2nd, 2002. May you always be well."  
  
Arthur flinched at the last sentence, and George hated to see the expression. Remus snuck out a hand and gave George's a quick squeeze, which prompted him to turn slightly and give Remus a mournful smile of gratitude. All too soon the official words would be over and they would return to the Burrow, where Molly would offer tea and biscuits and nobody would have an appetite.  
  
It was hard to believe that a week had already passed since Percy and Primula had been killed. They'd been in Muggle London, shopping for a particular Muggle device that had captured Arthur's imagination for months. The tragic irony that they were hit by a Muggle automobile pushed their father over the edge, and he opted to leave the Ministry. The hushed debate now centered around Xavier, Percy's son, who had been with Molly and Ginny that devastating afternoon and was now an orphan.  
  
"Ready, dad?"  
  
Arthur sighed, turning to the two men. "Yes."  
  
In silence the trio left the Ministry, George sneaking an occasional glance at his father. The quiet was unbroken until they reached the yard of the Burrow. Ron and Xavier were taking advantage of the brisk wind to fly a kite, the Chudley Cannons-burgandy ribbons flapping garishly against the gloom of the overcast clouds. The three men went immediately into the warmth of the kitchen where they were greeted by Molly, Hermione, Ginny and Neville.  
  
"Tea, Arthur?" Molly asked, her wand poised above the kettle. George pretended not to notice how bloodshot her eyes were.  
  
"Yes, please, dear," he replied, walking to her side and kissing her on the forehead.  
  
The seconds ticked by, abnormally lengthened by the pall that pervaded the room. The sound of cups clinking against saucers and sipping of tea were the only noises that seemed appropriate.  
  
_I hate this,_ George thought miserably. "Think I may go have a lie-down," he said aloud, then he swallowed the last of his tea.  
  
"You take naps?" Ginny asked, confounded.  
  
"I'm practising for middle age, like Remus here," he said, attempting to add some levity to the mood.  
  
"You should respect your elders," Remus said, raising an eyebrow and allowing a hint of a smile to settle on his lips. "Suppose I'll join you, though. Been a draining day."  
  
George got up from the table, took his and Remus' dishes and put them in the sink. He stopped by his father's side on his way upstairs, but any words that could convey the acknowledgement of his dad's sense of loss were meaningless. Instead, he leaned down and in a spontaneous gesture, enfolded his father in a clumsy embrace.  
  
"You've done really well, dad. Truly, there's none better," George said, trying to sound far more chipper than he felt.  
  
Arthur patted George's arm, his freckled fingers curling against the dark green wool of George's jumper. "Thanks, George." Arthur turned backward, the gaze of his pale blue eyes skating across his son's face, glancing over at Remus, then resolutely resituating their focus onto his half-full cup of tea. "It was awfully good for the two of you to be there with me today. Meant a lot."  
  
George had never wanted to sink into a hole more in his life. Or simply to get away from such an emotive situation that involved his father, especially when his mother and Ginny were beginning to sniffle again.  
  
"We'll just be upstairs. Resting," George said pointedly, extricating himself from his father's loose clutches. "You'll get us up to help with dinner, Mum?" he asked, knowing the answer before he heard it.  
  
"Of course, dear," Molly said, smiling tearfully at him. "You may want to check your bed for doxies, though, George- it's been ages since you stayed and I just haven't been able to keep ahead of the cleaning."  
  
"Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor, 1993-94," Remus intoned solemnly. "I assure you that no naps will be taken with any mischievous creatures about."  
  
"Except for that ghoul. Came with the Burrow," George muttered.  
  
The pair walked up the stairs to what had been Fred and George's room. There were still two twin beds and a small assortment of posters on the walls, but the ambiance was one of disuse and undisturbed vacancy. Despite its uncharacteristic tidiness, George still felt his mood lift once he entered and walked over to his bed, throwing himself on it. Remus joined him with more grace of movement, though he did give George a slight shove so he'd make room.  
  
"Will this day ever be over?" George grumbled.  
  
"Well, unless something rather unexpected happens, I'd say so."  
  
George gave Remus a swat on the backside. "Cheeky."  
  
Remus looked thoughtfully at him. "Do you think we should adopt Xavier?"  
  
George's expression became incredulous, as though Remus had asked if it were possible to teach blast-ended skrewts to rumba. "Us?" he stared.  
  
"Yes. Us. You're so good with him, George. I hadn't always wanted a family, but after losing Sirius and then unexpectedly and gratefully being handfasted to you," he paused and placed his long fingers on George's chest above his scar, "and seeing how devoted your family is to each other, well, I've been doing a lot of thinking over the past week."  
  
"Apparently." George found himself blinking curiously at his bondmate. He did love his nephew, of course, but he was pretty sure that given his parents' relatively grudging acceptance of his relationship to Remus that they would not approve. He could just imagine the conversation going on downstairs, the debate about which under-prepared sibling should take Xavier on: Ginny, six months pregnant with Neville's and her first child; Ron and Hermione, engaged but not yet married to their mother's continued consternation; or he and Remus, who Percy had always seen as basically two bachelors living together.  
  
"I've already spoken to Arthur and Molly about it."  
  
"Why am I not surprised?" George studied Remus' amber eyes. "Do you really want him? We both work full-time, y'know. And I have two bloody jobs. Not that we couldn't manage it, I reckon, but somehow I don't think we'd give him the kind of life he should get."  
  
Remus gazed at him. "We could certainly manage. But if you're this hesitant, it's probably not a good idea."  
  
"Hesitant? I didn't know until just now that you were even considering it!"  
  
"Maybe a pet would be a better first step."  
  
"A pet." George gave Remus a disbelieving look. "Um, Fred and I had a pretty poor track record with pets."  
  
"Really."  
  
"Really." George snorted, then grew serious. "Actually, maybe that's not such a bad idea. Wouldn't mind something furry and petable greeting me when I get home, especially when you're staying late at Hogwarts."  
  
Remus raised his eyebrows. "Do you have a particular furry creature in mind?"  
  
"Well, no, but we should probably take a few animals off the list. Nothing personal, but I think dogs and hippogriffs wouldn't be good."  
  
Remus winced. "Yes, you're probably right. Bit too much history there."  
  
"And I don't like tarantulas."  
  
"Neither do I."  
  
"Badgers shouldn't be in the running either, or frogs."  
  
"You had a badger as a pet?" It was Remus' turn to snort.  
  
"Not so much a pet, but yes, we did have a badger. For a little while."  
  
Remus shook his head. "Are you to be trusted with any animals?"  
  
The reply was out of George's mouth before he even considered it. "I've been entrusted with a werewolf, so I'd say yes. Oh. Dammit. That's not meant to mean anything. You know I didn't mean-" He was spared stumbling over any more apologies as the words were swallowed by a possessive kiss.  
  
When they pulled apart, Remus said, "You're claimed by a werewolf, you're not my caretaker." The words were breathed into George's mouth. "I think we should get some fish. Pretty, tropical fish. And maybe a couple of small birds."  
  
"Fish?"  
  
Remus stuck out his tongue to lick across the chapped surface of George's lips. "Yes. Fish."  
  
"But they're not petable," George insisted. "Or furry."  
  
"You have me," Remus rumbled, pulling his dress shirt from his trousers and taking George's hand, unceremoniously drawing it up to his hair-covered chest.  
  
George closed his eyes, relishing the feel of slightly coarse tendrils of hair under the pads of his fingers. "Thank Merlin for that," he sighed into Remus' jawbone. He lay still for a moment, aside from his fingers' slow exploration of Remus' pectorals. "Fish? Really?"  
  
"Fish," Remus concurred. "And a few budgies."  
  
"As long as I can still pet you," George said, allowing a fingernail to graze across one of Remus' hardening nipples.  
  
There was an affirmative low growl in reply.  
  
  
*****  


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